


Call Her Daylight

by joethelion



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D/s overtones, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Canon, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, angst ahoy, snuggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 76,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joethelion/pseuds/joethelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s up to you. We could keep doing a number of things I’ve dreamed up for us, we could go all night. Or we could have a dozen consciousness-expanding and sensation-magnifying hallucinations, visions of God, instant psychoanalysis, telepathy, and various creepy and/or ecstatic sensations nobody has yet been able to verbalize. Sexual fulfillment beyond anything imaginable.”</p><p>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She’s there for a week.

After enduring a red-eye she spends the first interminable day in endless closed-door meetings, catered lunches and drinks with funders and donors.

She’s the lead researcher. Marcus is much better at the games and the politicking, but he’s not as beautiful as she is (he does have great hair) and he’s still learning to be charming. Doctor Abigail Griffin is an intelligent, gracious, sophisticated woman in a sea of idiots. None of them, the rest of her team, have anything to worry about. They’ll reach their fund-raising goal within five hours of her landing in Las Vegas. Instead of calling them she decides to just do whatever she wants with her time. Really, this conference might ruin her life.

The software boys invite her to the after hour strip clubs when they realize she can drink them all under the table, but she begs off that first night. Marcus is flying in 6 days from now for the Keynote with Sinclair, maybe they can all go together to one of the more upscale places. Marcus is hilarious when he’s drunk and Sinclair would be delightful company.

The tech bros are realizing they have no chance of getting her into bed. They look just out of puberty—all newly minted tech billionaires. Why they decided to have this conference in Vegas is not beyond her. They're legitimately sociopathic twits—if they want to throw their money at her and her project, great. It’s better than dealing with the DOD.

The objectives are simple on paper. Augmented reality systems created to overlay relevant information required during surgery—pre-operative images, lab test results and details of previous surgeries. A patient’s whole history at their fingertips in less time than it takes to think it.

 _“We look forward to exploring how smart software could help give surgeons the information they need at just the right time during an operation.”_ It was a good press release.

Her life sciences team develops systems that detect cancer and heart attacks using nanoparticles, and they work on smart contact lenses that contain sensors capable of monitoring the signs of diabetes – technology that was licensed by the Swiss drug firm Infinity Corps, LTD in July 2014 to develop for practical medical application.

And then, somehow, she ends up sitting next to a kid who looks like he just discovered Pro-Activ at some stupid party Jasper and Monty drag her to—and no surprise, she’s already really tired of being leered at by hormonal disasters in fleece and flip-flops. She makes her excuses to the boys and slips out. They blink at her in surprise.

* * *

She has a slight, lovely buzz. She drives back to her hotel with the top down on her rental, and slips up to her room in one piece and has a great time doing it. She throws her Louboutins against the wall and then picks them up again and leaves them neatly near her suitcase, just because, and dials a number her oldest friend, a prominent senator, gave her.

It’s a proxy number, so she waits for the line to be scrambled, waits some more for the calm, modulated voice on the other end to vet her background check and credit records and then she keys in her code, password and confirms her appointment for an hour later.

She showers quickly and slips into the lush hotel robe, orders room service, an assortment of liquor, dims the lights, opens the curtains so the cityscape unfolds in front of her and mixes herself a drink as she waits.

* * *

Her guest is a stunning young woman dressed in an elegant, beautifully cut Prada suit and a fitted white shirt open to expose the hint of firm, perfect breasts, And because Abby is a shoe whore she notices she’s wearing ridiculously expensive Dolce & Gabbana, low-heeled black boots. 

Dark, luxurious layered hair—a color between chestnut brown and light amber—falls around her shoulders and down her back. She has a strong, lithe athletic body and a stunning, open smile. She doesn’t seem to fear anything at all. Abby notices her eyes. They’re alight with barely suppressed good humor, like this is unmanageably absurd, and they sparkle with sharp intelligence.

“Hi.”

“Hello. I’m—”

“You don’t have to give me your name. Unless you want to.“

“Probably best.“ Abby agrees and steps away from the door to let her in. She loves the young woman’s easy grace—her unconscious and natural charisma. She seems unaware of how beautiful she is, or she doesn’t care. That’s fantastic.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

The girl slips her jacket off and faces the windows for a minute, and then turns back to her client. “What do you feel like doing tonight?”

“I have two hours,” Abby says with a hint of ice, needing to take a little control back after being knocked off balance by the girl’s, well, everything. “Early meetings tomorrow.”

The girl smiles once again and she looks stupidly attractive doing it. Then, she’s all business. “Go stand by the window. Keep the curtain open.”

Abby does as she’s told. The young woman sips the drink Abby handed her and watches the lights below ghost around her disconcertingly beautiful client.

“You know what I asked for? My preferences?” Abby surprises herself; she’s acting like an amateur. Blurting things out like that when obviously this woman read her preferences. She knows exactly what Abby needs. That’s her job.

She feels shy and sexy. God, it’s been so long. Years. Since Jake died. All the work she’s done—all the posturing, maneuvering, relentless stress and ambition. The research aside, she’s been at the mercy of her dreams and her dreams come at a cost. She’s desperately lonely.

Her outburst gets a smile.

“Hey,” Abby says and extends her hand, “I need a moment.”

The girl places her fingers gently against her hips and warm lips press against the corner of Abby’s mouth, an ephemeral promise that Abby responds to by melting into the girl.

“I’m yours however you want me, we can throw your rule book out,” The girl whispers, “I’m pretty sure we can find some way to—“

Abby shivers, disoriented, because she is very, very sure what she wants this woman to do. She’s extremely aware of the strength in the girl’s fingers, as they press gently against her skin, solid and present.

Being held by this stranger is like standing too close to a fire. It’s the humor and hints of compassion that makes Abby uneasy. It’s too real. It’s deeply satisfying in a way she hasn’t responded to in years. _I want what we’ll do, all of it._

Abby is always thinking, always on. She has too many responsibilities to let her guard down, the consequences—

Abby focuses on the glorious face inches away from her own. The woman’s hands slide up her sides to cradle her shoulders, map them, smooth the tension from them, “God, you need something, anything right now, don’t you?”

Abby starting to disassociate. She’s vaguely aware of her growing excitement, and the expanding warmth in her chest.

“Kiss me.” The girl’s hands fall to the knot around Abby’s waist and she begins to undo it, taking her time; stroking the soft, warm skin she uncovers as she goes.

Helpless, disconcerted, and narcotized with lust, Abby leans in and covers the other woman’s mouth with her own. It’s a distant, odd thing to do until the girl kisses gently over Abby’s cheeks, forehead, and ears. She slips her hand underneath Abby’s robe and settles it next to her heart.

As a doctor, Abby should be alarmed at her own response. She’s breathing erratically; overcome by a primal rush of heat, making unintelligible sounds. Her mind reels, doesn't recognize the situation, reads it as radically untenable. Her body is roaring to life and eclipsing thought.

She can feel the insistence of the girl’s explorations, her tongue gently tracing her own, doing quite lovely things. The way the girl tastes like the bourbon and something else underneath that are entirely her—warmth, exhilaration, possibilities, vibrant color; like the first days of autumn when the air is cold under a still hot sun.

She tastes like Abby’s childhood walking through the woods, along trails at dusk on her way home to a fire. The girl pulls away slowly, pushing Abby’s robe off her shoulders, halfway down her upper arms. She shifts her leg between Abby’s thighs, holding her up against the window.

Her hands trail up and down Abby’s arms, waiting. Abby can only breathe into the touch. She kisses Abby again; lazy at first until their bodies start touching, and then she's pulling less gently at Abby’s robe. She’s asked for this. She hoped for it.

Slender fingers trace over her, easing back up to her throat and cupping her face. Abby’s head is pushed back, her neck exposed, her hands entangled somehow in the fabric of her robe, pinned there and disarmed.

"I’m going to come if you—“

“You’ll come when I tell you."

Abby has nothing to say to that.

"I think, later, you’re going to put those beautiful shoes back on, just them and nothing else. I love that; I want your legs wrapped around me and four-inch heels digging into my back. I like it that way. I like a little pain. And then you’re going to get on your knees for me.”

Abby, all of a sudden out of nowhere, thinks that’s the best idea she’d ever heard of.

* * *

When Abby wakes, she’s alone. A quick glance at the clock says it’s 4:30 AM. She rolls over on to her back and blushes like a goddamn kid.

_“You’re crying.” The girl reaches over to wipe the tears from Abby’s face, “It happens, you know. Almost anything can happen when—was that the first time you’ve asked for something like this?”_

_Abby shakes her head, “No. Not the first. I need it to be this way sometimes. I need to not be in control. I need—someone else to take over for awhile.” She smiles, embarrassed. “But yes, this is the first time I’ve cried.”_

_And then she laughs, “For Christ’s sake, it’s just some light role-play. I don’t know what’s going on. You’re exceptionally good at it. Sorry.”_

_“I am good,” the girl rakes her hands through her hair and laughs softly._

_“And charming as hell, and—and fucking sexy,” Abby says, “and modest.”_

_The girl smiles widely and leans down to kiss her, “Something else, then. Can I do anything for you? We could just talk.” Her expression sobers, “I know sadness too; I know it when I see it. This isn’t just release or a reaction to what we did.”_

_Abby hesitates and then breathes a regretful no. “I’m—It’s too much for one night—and not very interesting.”_

_“We’ll probably never see each other again if that makes a difference.”_

_“It should,” Abby reaches up and runs her thumb over the girl’s lower lip, “You’ve been wonderful. Thank you.”_

* * *

Abby sees the note only after she steps out of the shower, dresses and watches the sunrise over the city. She reads the note as she presses her face into one of the pillows. The room smells like sex and oddly, cedar wood. One of her favorite scents. She's losing her mind.

_“This goes against every protocol the agency has so don’t report me please—we can’t request clients—but if you’d like to see me again, I’m here. PS burn this note. PPS have a good day. :)“_

* * *

The day's a total waste. The smiley face emoticon the note ends with—incongruous and silly given the amount of money and orgasms exchanged—makes Abby laugh at incredibly inappropriate moments.

At one point she tells Jasper to just tape an entire plenary session because she just can't. Monty side-eyes her hard, and that makes it worse. She ignores all her calls from Marcus, Sinclair, and Jaha that day. They aren't here for another few days, so fuck them.

* * *

Her fingers drift down Abby’s chest, ghosting over her neck, her collarbone, her breasts and then she undoes the buttons of her blouse. She leans back a bit watching Abby, her expression inscrutable.

She’d walked in without a word, stripped off her shirt, and with just a glance at Abby she’d forgone any conversation, strode over and eased right into her personal space.

It was just a look—and Abby’s sure she can see  _everything_ —she takes Abby’s head between her hands, slides her fingers into her hair and kisses her deeply—intimately and slowly—biting down softly on her lower lip. The kiss is so blatantly sincere and it takes Abby so off-guard that she grips helplessly at the girl’s shoulders, unbearable desire curling up her spine, all of her heat pooling between her legs. It feels so overwhelmingly good.

And then the girl lets Abby’s lip go, soothes it with her tongue. She brings her body flush against Abby, just enough for Abby to feel taken care of, oddly safe.

Abby drifts back to herself slowly; her constant darkness and loneliness fall away. She breathes out and as the girl traces her leg. Touch starved, Abby shivers with pleasure when the girl skims up between her breasts and then down along her spine, kneading softly.

The other thing she notices from somewhere far away is that the girl is packing, and her eyes practically roll back in her head. She pulls away just far enough to reach between their bodies to loosen her belt.

The girl wraps her hand around Abby’s wrists and brings her lips just to hers and murmurs, “I thought we were done.”

The next words out of Abby, as she shakes her head against the silken warmth of the girl’s mouth are, "We’re not done until I know what it feels like to be used.”

* * *

The girl stills for such a long time Abby starts to say something and then her grip on her wrists tighten painfully and Abby gasps, despite herself, and falls forward into another deep, dizzying kiss. The girl’s lips are soft and demanding and—her voice is—her confidence—is— 

“Okay, easy. Breathe,” The girl says softly. Abby's eyes flutter open in time to see her face light up with a smile of such sweetness and beauty that she only needs a minute and then she nods in assent.

The girl’s hand is motionless inside her—has been for god knows how long. Her silken wetness gathers and floods over the girl’s forearm. Abby takes a startled, shattered breathe and holds as still as she’s able to.

Abby rests, surrendering to the frightening sensation of being flayed open—everything she is—centered on that one point of connection.

A belt is looped around her neck, held tight enough for her to feel the soft leather constrict against her skin whenever she tries to move her head back from where the girl has it angled, so she can see what’s being done to her and she can feel herself struggle ineffectually, helpless.

She’s trembling—she can’t help it—sweat beading down from her temples, and mixing with spontaneous tears of pleasure, surprise, and frustration that gather and fall at the corners of her eyes and down her cheek, her neck, onto the tangled, damp sheets beneath them.

The girl hovers above her, fully clothed, whispering into her ear. She wraps the end of the belt one more time around her fingers and she jerks on it sharply to get Abby’s attention. Abby moans and opens her eyes as the hand that’s been filling her for so long is withdrawn, leaving her empty and desperate, and the girl raises it slowly, trails it up her stomach, over her breasts to her shoulders to draw her bra straps down over both her shoulders so that the material falls just below her aching, taut nipples, exposing them for the first time tonight. 

Abby feels like she’s been set free, given some tether, allowed some literal release after hours of needing it and she wants to cry she feels so grateful— _or something_ —and she tilts her head further towards the warm mouth against her ear—who keeps on saying unbelievably, humiliating awful shit about—Abby's admitted to it, whatever it was, her murmured suggestions makes Abby slip further into an abyss, barely coherent with shame and pleasure. 

She’s already been driven out of her mind by the wet, warm tongue that traced her whole body for so long and the strong, sure fingers that had spread her wetness up and down, again and again from the hard tip of her clit to her ass, but wouldn’t fill her, kept her empty and wanting until her vision blurred, until the girl’s whole hand had entered her so easily,  _finally_ , that she didn’t realize what was happening until her body instinctively contracted around it and she’d been thrown into a whole new level of desperation.

She needs to be pushed open and stroked deeply, for hours. But the girl stops and just watches her, pulling at her lead so that Abby’s head and eyes are forced to meet hers.

“Keep going,” Abby begs. 

She gets a startling, sharp slap for that and the girl shakes her head as she pulls away.

“Clean my hand,” she says easily enough, sounding clinical and disappointed all at the same time, “lick yourself off of me. Wrap your legs around me, tighter.” 

Abby obeys immediately and in her unraveling doesn’t see the girl hesitate and lower her voice softly, murmuring an endearment, her expression deeply vulnerable as Abby's thighs slide further around her waist and back up her torso, shifting herself down until her heels dig viciously into the girl’s back. Abby can’t tell what the hell is happening anymore. The pleasure is beginning to become unbearable, coiling tight—deep in her belly—and threatening to overwhelm her.

“Good girl,” and Abby almost comes just like that before the girl slaps her again across the face and shocks her out of it.

Abby hisses at the contact, the pain heightening her raw desire after being denied over and over. The girl rewards her by bending down and licking at her neck and then drifting lower—taking in one nipple, sucking it into the heat and pressure of her mouth and worshipping it with her teeth and tongue as Abby watches. When the girl’s eyes slip shut, she thinks she might lose her mind.

She wrenches her head forward as far as she can and slides her mouth up her neck and against the girl’s ear, but the difference is she’s desperate and she doesn’t care what she sounds like anymore or even who she is, or what she’s asking for. She could legitimately give a fuck about anything right now.

Abby takes a deep breath because she knows she’s not supposed to ask, not supposed to do anything but submit, but she has to ask because she will probably die if she doesn’t. “ _Please_ ”

She can't keep her own eyes open; she’s just mindlessly seeking purchase. She’s begging. And through her frenzy, she hears the girl echoing her—soft, wild moans mix with her own demands and pleas _begging her_  to take her as deep as she can.

Abby is—she can’t believe this. She’s never begged for anything in her life, and she’s not only pleading and whining frantically but the girl is matching her, word for word, a fraction less out of control than Abby feels—but the same words are pouring out of her mouth. The same heat and leashed violence is cresting for both of them—and when she sucks the girl’s earlobe into her mouth, hard, for just a few seconds, it gets her so wet again that she can feel it course through her and mix with the sweat dripping from the other woman’s body, who now feels naked to Abby despite her clothes. 

_“I need you.”_

Without releasing the belt, the girl rears up and undoes her pants and pulls the cock out. In one easy motion, she hauls Abby closer to the edge of the bed and begins to rub it's head through her wet folds, just fucking the outside of her cunt slowly, exhibiting such unbelievable self-control Abby absently wonders if she’s just play-acting. 

The horrifying, embarrassing thought rips thru Abby’s haze and throws her rudely into a very, very strange place. Her rational mind ascends abruptly and coldly. This is all just a scene. This isn’t real; she’s paid for this. Her shame is brutal and quick and scathing, and it’s not a turn-on. She’s mortified, she's too exposed, too raw, too much and the girl is just doing a job.  _This wasn’t—pathetic—_

This time, the slap is sharper and more painful than the others. It snaps her head to the side and her attention back to what's happening. The girl rests between her legs and right at her center, waiting.

“Don’t you dare,” the girl’s voice is quiet. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me here alone.  Trust this. Trust yourself. You think I’m doing this because I need the money? You think I’m playing you? You think this is a joke to me?” 

She inches in farther, stretching Abby deliberately and slowly. She loosens the belt and slides it off her neck, replacing it with a gentle hand and draws Abby up to kiss her, “God, you really do. You don’t think you’re worth any of this. You think you’re not worth my—“

She thrusts into Abby so deeply and roughly that both of them lose control of the kiss, heedless of the mess they make of it.

The girl’s voice stutters and stops and Abby feels her gather herself together before she finally says, under her breath, sliding her tongue along the roof of Abby’s mouth and over her top lip before dipping back to take her again, “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how beautiful you are. How much I want you.”

The thickness of the shaft is more than Abby’s used to, but she doesn’t care, she loves the stretch and the drag of it, the slight pain underneath the pleasure—the feeling of being entirely filled. She watches the girl strip her own shirt off with graceful ease. The slow, building rhythm she’s set spreads warmth throughout Abby's body, more heat ans need than she's known in years and she starts to cry as the girl whispers, “God, look at you. You’re beautiful.”

She’s brought Abby to a point where there’s nothing else she craves, there’s no other thought in her world except taking anything the girl gives her, however, she wants to.

The girl undoes her own bra and slides it off her shoulders and Abby instinctively sits up from where she had been roughly pushed down again, still riding the cock, to take a glorious nipple into her mouth until the girl’s hand reaches down simultaneously to fondle her clit.

Abby slams her body so violently down onto the strap-on that the girl curses, surprised, under her breath, and abandons her clit and starts to fuck her mercilessly.

There’s no more thought given to her comfort level, Abby sees that last bit of control sparks out of her eyes. This is beyond what they’d agreed to. If she wants to stop it, she can. The unspoken question is does she want to. She knows that.

Their kisses are lewd as hell: sloppy, dirty and real. And Abby hasn’t felt real in a very, very long time. She’s ridiculously about to have the best orgasm of her life.

She wants this woman. She wants this beautiful woman to fuck her silly. She _is_  being fucked senseless. She wants to mark the girl in some way and she would but she’s being claimed so thoroughly and with such abandon, she can’t do anything except drown in it. And God, she wants to feel this.

“Oh, fuck.” The girl wraps Abby against her, roughly, and gasps her need into Abby’s mouth.

The girl is  _lost_ , and Abby finally realizes that this wild beautiful woman is as far gone as Abby is—and as a lapsed Catholic she’s  _so_  here for this.

This young woman is going to send them both into oblivion, soaked with Abby’s come and drinking all of her in as they go. Abby's letting her do anything she wants—and she allows the girl to feel the strength of her own lust.

Abby wants so badly to come for her—as hard as it’s building to a crest—that she loses her grip on reality and goes into a suspended state of euphoria, just hovering on the edge as the girl gets control of herself and eases back a little.

She leans over Abby on her forearms and says, “Watch me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Abby grabs hold of two sweat-slicked, toned and flexing arms, and for the first time she can remember, she obeys.

The girl’s eyes dilate impossibly and it’s so wildly intimate that Abby flushes with care, with warmth, with a need to cradle her and bring her in as deep as she’s willing to go for as long as she wants. It’s breathtaking. She’s forcing the girl higher, even as she becomes more and more lost and unhinged in the pleasure coursing through every nerve and channel of her bloodstream, she’s scared. It’s scary where she is. She hovers forever in the place they’ve found together still looking into each other’s eyes, daring the other into an infinite free-fall.

When her orgasm hits, the girl kisses her hard, and somehow manages to keep their mouths together and keep her eyes open, God knows how, and when Abby sees her smile—triumphant and ecstatic as Abby’s entire being shatters in a prolonged pulsing, sustained wave after wave of pleasure—she’s pretty sure she loses consciousness.

The girl helps her ride through the aftershocks in a long, suspended moment. The girl’s body is trembling, and she’s breathing hard.

“Oh, baby,” Abby whispers, “Let me.”

The girl nods yes, and Abby slides the toy out of herself with a small wince of regret and quickly undoes the harnesses and the whole stupid contraption and slips it off her.

“Let me,” she says again, “Please.”

She buries her tongue into the girl’s wet, swollen cunt and tastes her sharp, tangy, sweet—so sweet—depths. She feels the pulsing life and strength of her, and she takes as much in as she can before the girl comes. 

It’s too fast; she must have been on an edge as long as Abby was. She arches off the bed, flooding Abby's mouth and throat with her taste.

Abby works her to another, quieter orgasm. She licks at her for a long time, flattening her tongue in long, languid strokes, drinking her in, committing what she can to memory. Then she lays her head against her thigh and closes her eyes and listens, just listens to the deeply satisfied sounds coming from the back of the girl’s throat.

Abby eventually kisses up her lithe, strong body and takes her into her arms.

She tugs a warning through her hair when the girl tries to suggest that she doesn’t have to do this, and reminds her softly that she wouldn't do anything she didn't want to. Abby’s rewarded with a simple, grateful kiss.

They drift in each other’s arms and the girl falls asleep murmuring incoherently against her neck as Abby strokes her hair and blessedly thinks of absolutely nothing.

When Abby wakes at 4:30 AM, she’s alone again. There is no note this time.

* * *

She's even more stunning than Abby remembered—it's a jolt of pleased recognition—and she whistles low when Abby opens the door.

She leans in for a very chaste, sweet kiss on Abby’s cheek and smiles, “The whole night, huh? I’m flattered.”

Abby hands her a drink, “Not surprised, though.”

“See? You know me so well already,” The girl raises an eyebrow over the rim of her glass. 

“Serious question,” the girl takes a large swallow of her drink, “You’re stunning, I mean  _Jesus_ , you’re gorgeous. You could have anyone, you could have anything you want, any way you want it. Why this? Why this way?” She puts the glass down and stares at Abby very seriously, genuinely curious. “No strings?”

“Something like that. You?” Abby says.

“Student loans are a bitch.” the girl shrugs. “You’ve saved me from some of the major software executives. They’re bananas; seriously batshit requests you have no idea—and they pay really well. These conferences are a goldmine.” She rolls her eyes, annoyed just thinking about it, “You cannot even imagine, nor would you want to. So, thank you.”

“My name is Abby,” Abby blurts out.

The girl’s expression remains calm, her only tell a slight tightening of her jaw. There's a long silence, and then, “Erin.”

Erin removes her light jacket and rolls up her sleeves. She steps into Abby’s body and draws her hands through Abby’s hair and kisses her deep and slow, “Hi, Abby. I have something for you tonight.”

* * *

Abby, when she finally catches her breath, looks up at Erin. She gets up from where she kneels on the floor between Erin’s legs and grabs the sheet that's fallen unnoticed while she’d brought her to an intense orgasm (like, the fourth one already) with her tongue and teeth and fingers, everything she had really.

Abby pulls the sheet up to just below her waist and says, “Peyote?”

Erin brings her mouth to Abby’s, licks herself off of Abby’s lips, makes a pleased sound, “It doesn’t matter if you trust me. That’s what you’re paying for. And yes, peyote.”

Abby just stares at her.

“Or, not?” Erin says, “It’s up to you. We could keep doing a number of things I’ve dreamed up for us, we could go all night. Or we could have a dozen consciousness-expanding and sensation-magnifying hallucinations, visions of God, instant psychoanalysis, telepathy, and various creepy and/or ecstatic sensations nobody has yet been able to verbalize. Sexual fulfillment beyond anything imaginable.” Erin wiggles her eyebrows, adorable. Abby bursts out laughing.

“I happen to like consensual reality,” Abby says, “Like, a lot.”

“Abby,” and this time, it's Erin who kneels gently between her legs, “Something’s got you stuck. I recognize it because I know it. It’s in me too. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since yesterday. Tell me what it is, or don’t. But I want to help.”

After coming so hard she nearly passes out, Abby looks Erin straight in the eyes, her face set, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Erin hums her agreement and continues to stroke Abby lightly between her legs.  She arches into her touch, legs slipping around Erin’s hips into the warm press of her body. And then the visions start and Abby, quite literally, loses herself in space-time.

By the fifth or sixth hour, when the hallucinations pass and a typically benevolent tranquility settles through both of them, sex becomes an unspeakably sacred and ecstatic experience.

They make love with the Earth and the Sky, and laugh hysterically because that's ridiculous and amazing, ( _in an energetic and emotional way_ , Erin says and then laughs so hard she cries) as Erin brings Abby to climax again and again under the startling map of stars they can see through the room’s window. Afterward or whenever, because time's relative, Abby suggests a walk.

* * *

They dress and head out into the cool night, the concierge helpfully points them in the direction of a trail towards the open desert just beyond the hotel’s pool. The moonlight is so bright; they can pick their way without any trouble. 

“Jake. His name is Jake, was Jake.” Abby says. “My husband. He was in a horrible accident. When they brought him in, no one recognized him.” Abby’s tears come freely, and she's caught up in how soft and transformative they feel against her skin, like a baptism. 

Erin squeezes her hand and stops her. Abby turns towards her and kisses her and continues, “I was the Trauma Surgeon on call that night. I operated on him. The unspoken rule of Medicine is that you don’t administer to your loved ones. It’s the most important one, besides Do No Harm.”

Abby becomes acutely aware of the sensuality of the landscape; its honesty, the love in every grain of sand, in the wind.

“You didn’t save him. You think he died because of you.” Erin murmurs and strokes her fingers over the necklace Abby wore, the wedding ring it holds. “You didn’t take this off last night, or tonight.”

Abby nods, “Smart girl.” 

And then she really bursts into tears. She cries like she hasn’t cried in years. This is nothing compared to what happened the night before. This is despair and hurt and hopelessness. It pours out of Abby so violently and unrelenting that she almost loses consciousness. She's only vaguely aware when Erin’s arms come around her when they sink down in the sand and sagebrush together, and then Erin just rocks her gently as she sobs. 

They stay like that for an eternity. Erin’s fingers sweep through Abby’s hair, again and again, she brushes Abby’s face and forehead and temple with her lips over and over as she murmurs into Abby’s ear, “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“My daughter blames me,” Abby says after a while, wrapped in Erin’s warmth and gazing into the sky. “Nothing I’ve done since has made me feel anything. I feel like nothing, no matter what I do, no matter who I’m with.”

And then, because they’re nomads tonight like they’ve eaten the heart of the earth and the world is so bright around them; Abby takes the necklace off and slides her wedding ring into her hand and just looks at it. It’s beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” Erin says simply.

The world as it is shifts and changes before their eyes. The colors, the shapes, the sky pulsates like milk in dark blue liquid—the horizon encircling them like a chain of diamonds.

“Look around you, Abby,” Erin whispers, “Every plant, every stone, everything has its own clearly visible, beautifully oscillating soul. You deserve to be happy.”

Abby feels, rather than sees, the waves/particles vibrating with life, and she and Erin entangle themselves up in one another in a loving heap of confused limbs and watch the moon descend.

“I can feel the pulse in this rock,” Abby breathes.

“You’re lying on top of me,” Erin giggles.

“Yes,” Abby said, feeling as free as she ever has, “Yes I am.”

And she bends down to kiss Erin, this beautiful girl, this miracle.

* * *

Abby wakes up in her hotel bed, not alone.

Her wedding ring is on her ring finger and Erin’s sprawled halfway on top of her. That’s nearly impossible to fathom because she hasn’t slept through a single night with anyone since Jake died. She hasn’t allowed it. And then she sees a similar ring on Erin’s hand. One that hadn’t been there before, she’s sure of it.

Panic sends her nerve-endings into an orchestral, cacophonic defcon-1 mode. She sits straight up in bed and unceremoniously launches Erin off of her and on to the floor with a hard thud.

“What the FUCK,” Erin sounds small, sleepy, hurt and homicidal all at the same time.

Without answering, Abby reaches down and grabs Erin’s hand and holds it up to her face. Erin blinks at it and what’s on it and says nothing, obviously stunned. 

“Oh. Holy shit.” She manages. 

When Abby just glares and doesn’t answer her she shifts into high-functioning fixer, logical as hell mode, fast. “Okay. Well. We got carried away, didn’t we? Wow, we are assholes. Okay. To file for an annulment in Nevada, one of us has to live in Nevada for at least six weeks prior to filing and we have to provide basic information about uh—me, you, our marriage and grounds for an annulment.”

“OUR MARRIAGE?” Abby yells, and then more practically, “I CANNOT live here for six weeks.”

“For real, I can’t either.”

“You don’t live here?” Abby growls.

“No. I’m here on business. And my new job wouldn’t allow it, either.”

Abby looks at her blankly, “I thought this,” she gestures between them, “was your business.”

Erin rolls her eyes, offended. “Student loans, remember? Jesus, Abby.”

She pushes herself up and roots around the room for her clothes and snaps, “I have a meeting in two hours.”

Abby watches her, speechless.

“Is this what you do?” She finds her voice, “Marry your wealthy clients, no pre-nup, and—“

Erin whirls on her, “You finish that sentence and I swear to god, Abby, I will make sure everyone in your entire world knows what you sound like when—jesus, just stop talking.”

Abby takes a deep breath to calm herself and rubs her face with her hands. When she speaks again, it’s softer, apologetic. “Erin, I’m sorry.”

“I’m as freaked out as you are, believe me.” Erin reaches for Abby’s phone and enters her information, waves it around to show Abby. “Listen, I really do have to go. I’m not lying about any of it. I do have a new job and I do have a meeting. We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise you.”

“Your money—“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Abby. You’re not paying me for last night, okay?” Now, Erin’s furious.

Abby sits up in bed and grabs a pillow. Just to do something, anything.

Erin looks at her, completely transparent, hurt and angry and then she turns and walks out, slamming the door on her way. Abby sits, stunned, feeling as exposed as she ever has, and ashamed.

* * *

Abby gets the phone call not ten minutes later. She’s barely moved. “Yes?”

“Abby, It’s Marcus. I’ve got Sinclair with me.”

“Are you in Vegas? Four days early? Why on earth—“

“No, we’re still in DC. Thelonious is with us. We bribed him to come,” She can hear Jaha’s delighted laugh in the background and a muted oh my god, DC is a hell-hole, I hate it. Save me. “We need to see you as soon as possible, we have great news,“ He sounds giddy, “can you fly back here, skip a day at the conference and meet us in DC? We’ll all fly back together.”

Abby sighs, happy to hear his voice. Happy to step back into a world she knows and excels at. Happy to be seeing her friends, “God, yes. When and where?”

* * *

Abby finds them all easily. Crunchy, tree-hugging hippies that they are, they wanted to meet at the Great Mall. It’s cherry blossom season. Abby jogs the last few yards and straight into Marcus’s arms. He kisses her roundly and then Thelonius and Sinclair crowd them and they double hug her. Jasper and Monty wave to her, they flew back separately and Jasper’s making a little grass and flower weaving with the fallen pink and white petals; because of course he is.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Marcus says happily.

Abby ignores him, “So what’s the big news? Why’d you rescue me from the 9th circle of Hell?”

“Because Sinclair found us our secret weapon, we found our nano-tech quantum engineer. Once she comes on board we won’t even need to ask for funding. She’s so good they’ll be throwing money at us.” Thelonius slips his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels, serene and in a perpetual mellow state of mindblow.

Sinclair nods vehemently, and turns to wave at a woman crossing towards them, “She’s coming to meet us right now.”

The sun is behind the woman approaching them, silhouetting her and obscuring her face. Abby has to shield her eyes against the brightness.

Marcus waves to her and takes Abby by the hand, leading her forward. “Abby, meet Raven Reyes, the youngest double post-doc fellow at the MIT’s Kavli Institute For Astrophysics & Space Research and Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory —“

Abby lowers her hand and blinks into the blinding light, her eyes slowly focusing. The young woman stops inches away from her, a little too close, and removes her sunglasses. They stare at each other and Raven Reyes finally extends her hand.

Her expression gives nothing away—absolutely nothing. Not anything, not the fact that they spent a lost weekend together, not the little detail that Erin,  _Raven_ , fucked her senseless the first night and she paid for it and that the second night they fucked each other senseless and the third time they made love all night out in the universe somewhere. And certainly not the fact that they’re married. Because,  _holy shit._

Abby can see a flash of confusion and shock briefly in Raven’s beautiful, open features, and then a perfect iron-clad defense mechanism—the mask Abby recognizes because she employs it so often herself—comes slamming down and whatever was there before is replaced by the most chilling, polite, arrogant, challenging and relaxed expression she has ever seen in her life.

“Doctor Griffin.” Raven murmurs.

“Raven.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re drunk.” Marcus sighs.

There’s some rustling and a whispered conversation and Abby is immediately mortified.

“Hold on a minute, Abby,” Marcus places his hand over the phone for a few seconds.

He’s really not alone and she nearly throws the phone at the wall.  She hears him get out of bed and then move through his apartment, his breathing evening out a bit. This could not be more embarrassing than it is, but yes, yes it is.

“You could have finished and then picked up the phone, or I could have left a message,” she hisses.  _Who picks up the phone in the middle of going down on someone?_

“Abby, oh my god, when have I ever not picked up the phone when you call? I love you, like, in general, don’t get excited. It’s almost 2 in the morning on a weekday and I thought it was an emergen—”

“I completely interrupted you. You have someone there, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just—” she says almost gleefully. It’s been this way since they were kids.

“Yes, but you know what? I can hang up on you at any time. I’m mixing a drink and now I am listening. Go.”

“I met someone,” she says, as calmly as she can.

Marcus says nothing for a few seconds. Then, “How old are you? Are we in high school? Text me that shit.”

“I have to tell you. It’s the bro-code.”

“Okay—I literally have no idea what you just said? You’re like, in 9th grade right now. Do we get to share the HBIC?”

Abby laughs outright, even though everything hurts. “We’re in the Chess club, so, no.”

“Burn.”

“See? But ‘burn’ is from the 70s.” Abby snorts.

“Before 900; Middle English _bernen, brennen_ , Old English _beornan_ —intransitive, cognate with Gothic, Old High German _brinnan_ , and Old English _bærnan_ transitive, cognate with Gothic _brannjan_ , Old High German _brennen_.” Marcus thinks he’s hilarious and giggles, and then he waits her out. He’s very good at this.

“I’m having a thing with a call girl and the sex is—was—unreal, I mean, I can’t even describe—she wants nothing to do with me now,” Abby kind of yells into the phone.

Marcus is really silent for a very long time; he knows how his best friend has been barely coping for far too long with Jake’s death. It destroyed all of them.

“And that makes you sad,“ He says, very gently, ”and you feel guilty. Abby, love, it’s been—a very, very long time. It’s okay to enjoy yourself.”

No one has ever put Abby’s grief into words. They’ve just all created an unbreakable circle of support and unwavering protection around her, and themselves. But they’ve hardly ever talked about it. Abby can’t.

“No. Sad and guilty are not the words,” she says, very quietly.

“Do you need me to kill her? Because I will. I will fuck someone up. Is she blackmailing you?” Marcus asks, incredulous, “How did you manage to get a call girl to refuse your uhm, calls—oh, fuck. Did you fall in lo—oh _fuck_. You said ‘she’.”

“That’s what you got out of this whole thing? God, Marcus, no. Absolutely not. I didn’t fall in love. And Holy Christ, are you serious right now? Yes, I like women. Surprise.”

Marcus recovers like a champ, "This is obviously your fault. You’re such a prude. I bet you’re so boring in bed—it makes me want to cry how ridiculous and Catholic you must be in the sack.”

“Marcus, okay, first of all, don’t imagine me in bed, ever, and second of all—shut up?”

Marcus laughs. “Abby, you don’t have to pay for sex. Have you seen yourself?”

“I had one lost weekend with her. It was—the sex was great. It was—she’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, she’s gorgeous—god, so beautiful—and I don’t know anything about her and she’s sweet and genuine and makes me laugh and I have never, I swear to god, ever had better sex. She’s really—”

“And then she disappeared on you,” Marcus nudges, “Maybe that’s the policy? Maybe it has nothing to do with you.”

Abby just winces and mumbles. “I wish it were that simple.”

Marcus waits her out again and then sighs deeply. “Okay. I’m clearly not getting all the facts here. If you’re not in love, there’s no problem. There are other people and much more amazing sex to be had out there, believe me—it’s a big, wide world. I don't know where the fuck to even start because you’re not giving me much of anything to work with, except that you’re possibly really lonely and possibly obsessive (I’m going out on a limb here) and controlling and don’t like it when people throw you off your emotional game. Jake was the easiest guy in the world and he adored you. So, Abby, I have a question. Why this girl?”

Abby makes a small noise and then says, “Okay. Can I just—”

“I mean, you actually don’t have any game.” Marcus continues, and Abby tries and fails to launch a defense to the contrary, and he’s starting to warm up to the subject, “Maybe this is a good thing, because you’re obviously thinking about this in a major way and calling me at all hours and maybe you just have to let this be crazy and unpredictable. Maybe you need to be rejected once or twice. Because no one has rejected you, and if they did you ignored them. Maybe you picked the one safe person in the whole wide world to obsess about, because her job description, and by any definition of these kinds of situations she won’t and can’t let you in emotionally. It’s a _transaction_. No one gets hurt. It’s like, in the contract, so to speak. Because that is the Abby I know. Even your unconscious decisions are strategic. Reckless, but strategic. It could be good for you to be unhinged a little, for once. And it’s ended up being safe, ultimately, didn’t it? Good job.”

She laughs softly and then says, “You’re right. I haven’t asked for her since.”

“So this is all—you’re still in control—and completely reasonably and markedly you,” Marcus says, and Abby can almost feel the eye roll. “So call the place up and ask for her, just run it out to a natural conclusion. Because it’s an illusion, babe—that’s all it is.”

There’s so much Abby can’t say here for her own sake, but mostly for Raven’s, and this conversation is getting nearly too much for her to handle, and Abby needs to put the phone down and just sit with a pint of ice cream and cry some more or something.

Because she can’t say, I see this woman every day in the lab and in meetings. She knows more about me than you or I know about me, and I’ve been a total, shut down idiot, and she’s been—the Polar North is warmer—it’s killing me. And oh right, we’re _married_.

“Fuck,” Abby just sighs.

“Lady. It can’t be a bad thing, to feel again? No matter where or how or what place in you it’s coming from or how it turns out it’s not a _bad thing_. This sounds impossible, and it sounds perfect. You put everyone else first, and you’ve been—hey, listen to me,” Marcus says, in a tone of voice that he’s only saved for her, ever, and it makes her tear up just like that. “It’s alright. Whatever happens, you just keep talking to me about it, okay?”

“I just…” Abby says, and she’s reached some kind of limit. The love and concern in Marcus’ voice is unbearable, “I miss him.”

“I miss him, too. But call _her_.”

Abby makes a thoroughly incomprehensible sound.

“Abby—”

“Marcus. How did you move on from me?”

Marcus almost chokes on his drink, “That's really unfair.”

“Well, it was the worst timing—so similar situation,” Abby says, pointedly.

Marcus maintains his composure, but she knows she’s hit target, it’s fine, and they should have dealt with this a long time ago. “You’re welcome, you drunk asshole.”

Marcus stays on the phone with her, just breathing steadily as Abby absentmindedly runs her hand over the festive marriage license in front of her.

“No real names.” Abby scans the license. And checks the document again.

On the surface, it makes absolute sense that Raven has a legitimate, working false identity—the level this particular agency operates at is in the stratosphere as far as these things go; the client roster probably includes the President, for god’s sake. And the whole operation depends on complete and total discretion.

Raven is CIA counterintelligence. Oh, god. This was a setup. The CIA is going after the project and all the research and holy shit—Raven’s counterintelligence.

Abby shakes her head because what kind of human disaster is she.

Now she wants peanut butter straight out of the jar, says as much to Marcus, and hangs up.

* * *

“This is _everything—_ ” Bellamy claps his hands like a seal.

Clarke ignores him and slowly relaxes into slight shock, “How even—”

Octavia leans her head back and groans, “For real, Raven, I don’t know how you do it. This woman sounds _fantastic_.”

Raven is slouched about as deeply into the couch as she can be with her head in her hands, mumbling, “No this is really the worst. You guys—this woman. I’m not even escorting that much anymore—or ever—I don’t need to. I just can’t stop thinking about her.”

 _Or seeing her. Every day. At work. She’s perfect and she hates me. We hate each other. Help._ “She’s perfect.”

The three of them, slightly alarmed, just look at her sympathetically.

What Raven does to pay off her loans isn’t a secret in her very tight-knit circle of friends, and since Clarke’s met her because of the Blake siblings, they've bonded in the last year or so through Skype and a quick all Adventure Squad trip to Barcelona last summer—she’s always just only thought of it abstractly from time to time. Like, _yay beats working at Starbucks_.

“She was a client. And you had mad sex, and dropped a powerful hallucinogen, and you dissolved some structures and lost some basic models of behavior and couldn’t process information normally, and now you’re married. Sounds amazing.” Octavia says, sighing deeply.

“Yes.” Raven hasn’t even said anything about the new work situation because, really?

“But that’s kind of fun,” Clarke tries not to laugh, “And easily fixed. It’s a Vegas wedding. Just establish residency.”

Bellamy whips out his phone and googles something. “Ooh. You can declare yourself insane,” Bellamy says, “not a stretch.”

Raven glares at him and opens another beer, “Neither of us has the time to establish residency.”

“Damn.”

“Right.”

“And you haven’t spoken to her since. And you don’t know her name. What’s on the marriage license?”

“Not our real names.”

And then she kind of stares at Clarke. Whose last name is Griffin. And then she whips out her phone and googles “How common is the surname ‘Griffin,’” and waits for it. Griffin is a surname of primarily Irish origin. Griffin was the 75th most common surname on the island of Ireland in 1891. It was estimated in 2000 that Griffin is the 114th most common surname in the U.S., with a population in the order of two hundred thousand.

She narrows her eyes at Clarke. Who narrows her eyes back at her? Did she just—

Abby’s CIA counterintelligence. This was a setuphair. The CIA is going after the agency and all the clients. The CIA is a client.

“Okay, but that’s like 18 levels of illegal. I mean, false identities. What is this, Ghost Protocol?”

Raven, if possible, just looks even more housewife-on-the-verge and blinks rapidly and doesn’t answer. She literally turns white and then green, and Clarke bolts to grab a ginger ale out of her fridge. And then makes the split second executive decision to make a CC and Ginger because Raven’s seriously about to stroke out.

“Okay, Raven, just drink this and breathe, sweetie. Okay? Breathe.”

* * *

Abby Griffin is an alarmingly beautiful woman, even just rifling through the charts she’s holding. If she’s surprised to see Raven roll up in the middle of her shift at the hospital, she doesn’t show it.

Raven’s stomach tightens when she thinks of the way Abby’s fingers had wrapped around the makeshift restraints, the way she’d caressed Raven’s hair during and afterward, absently—like they’d been lovers forever—and then of course, on cue, Abby looks up and gazes into her eyes.

“Hello,” Abby says.

Raven looks back with glacial professionalism and nods a greeting.

“I’m on rounds. Can I help you?” Abby shifts the pile of papers in her arms while checking her pager and politely waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” Raven says, because she’s a genius, and that’s a genius answer.

She holds up a carton holder with two cups, “Brought you some coffee. Honestly, I don’t know what your order is. I just said words.”

“Grande, Quad, Nonfat, One-Pump, No-Whip Mocha?”

Raven nods her head slowly, “Do you know what a quad means? Four shots of espresso.”

“How did you know it was my favorite?”

“I pay attention. And how come ‘no whip’? You have at least three of these a day. And a great hamburger from the corner diner when you remember to eat.”

“What did you get?”

“An Iced Coffee. That’s it, because what the fuck even with your order? I almost passed out saying it.”

“What are you doing here, Raven?” Abby grits her teeth.

Then, before Raven can answer, Abby stands up, “I’m running late. Come on rounds with me, I think it’s better to keep this straightforward until we can figure something out.”

“It’s not about that.”

Abby stops so abruptly Raven almost runs into her. “Please don’t say it’s about anything else because you’re lying. I’m not any happier with this situation than you are. You walked out on me.”

That last part of that is almost a complete non-sequitur, as far as what Abby had intended to say or what apparently Raven thought she would hear, from the hilarious look on her face.

“You’re right,” Raven says. “I ran.”

There it is; the startling honesty. Raven is very close to her, a little too close like she always seems to be even when they’re killing themselves trying to ignore each other. And she looks better than anyone Abby has ever seen.

Raven knows her color’s running high and her pupils are dilating and she feels transparent and helpless.

“Sinclair and Marcus want me to get an idea of what you need on the ground,” Raven shrugs. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I’m not a surgeon. You are. They want me to schedule as much time with you as possible and I’ll shadow you sometimes and—”

There’s a long pause.

“And what, Raven?” Abby’s voice is sharp.

Raven pauses and then just—steps further into Abby’s space, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her voice is low, pitched just for her.

Abby almost drops her complicated coffee drink. She feels like a fifteen-year-old girl. They haven’t spoken more than two words since this all started. And after so many weeks of desperate avoidance, it’s unnerving to focus on what’s actually happening. What’s real. How beautiful Raven is. She collapses a little with relief and happiness.

Raven’s eyes are intoxicating and open, so open. The breathtaking, innocent amusement is there again, for her, after almost two months of walled off irritation. Raven is apologetic and warm, sharper and softer all at the same time. Abby almost swoons; she’s missed that look from this woman so much.

Abby can’t get a handle on her own reaction, she’s hot and desperate to touch Raven, and she knows—the way she knew within a few seconds of seeing Raven, Erin, _oh my god whoever_ , that first night—that—and they’re in the middle of the busiest part of the hospital. She watches as Raven’s jaw works for a moment. It would be so easy to just mount her right—

She backs up. “Are you really here to shadow me?” Christ, just standing next to Raven has her flustered. She sounds shrill and pissy even to herself and winces.

If any of Abby’s internal or external meltdown is obvious to Raven, she just takes it in stride with her impeccable kindness and lets the moment go. “Yes, I am. I need hands-on foundational groundwork. Sinclair and Marcus agree. I have no medical training. I’m the best at what I do, but I need your expertise, and I need to see you in action and you in a working environment. I hear you’re pretty good.” Raven watches Abby with a half-smile.

“I can show you what I need, what my—”

“Abby, let me help you, let’s do this together because I really am just that good. And you’re paying me a lot of money to guide the team through the specs. So let’s start simple, like generating alerts and reminders in real-time situations. The augmented reality work you’ve done is brilliant. But what-ifs and dreams are what I specialize in.”

Abby, despite herself—and despite experiencing what amounts to emotional whiplash from the abrupt swerve they’ve taken back into professional territory—feels the same thrill she fought so hard to contain when she started to listen to Raven walk the team through that first meeting, back in Washington DC.

* * *

_Raven doesn’t even look at Abby after stepping back out of Abby’s space. She’s unsatisfied and embarrassed by her initial childish and unmistakably aggressive challenge. The others are oblivious and excited._

_Sinclair had sort of looked wildly back and forth between them, hopeful and thrilled and then unnecessarily re-introduced Raven, this time with all the relevant background and details. There’s no doubt about Raven’s credentials, but Abby can’t process anything at all right now._

_Raven is in a fury, cursing herself out brutally. If she’d just kept her head down, just made it out of school in her own loud, arrogant and charming way, kept moving instead of opening herself up to people, stopped screwing around and making herself vulnerable, she would be safe. She never wants to be helpless or weak again. She’d left Vegas knowing that she needed to stay away from Abby. And here they were._

_She has friends, good friends. She has a mind that comes along once in half a century. She’s financially set for the rest of her life. There’s nothing she needs, except working on projects she loves._

_And when this woman had called her up, asked for her, she’d practically collided with Abby in a way that suggested countless laws of motion in the universe and fate and destiny or any of that bullshit and Abby had torn her open as soon as she’d seen her. In days. In hours. Minutes._ _Abby was haunting, beautiful and made of starlight and steel and she made Raven crazy with desire and into a really bad poet. She’d almost collapsed in relief when Abby asked for her again._

_When she’d walked up to the little group standing eagerly waiting for her under the cherry blossoms, she’d been in absolute control of herself, happy to be a part of something potentially world-changing. And then she’d seen Abby staring at her and holding her gaze so unemotionally it was—horrible._

_Raven is shaken, so quickly and deeply, she has to frantically flail around and remember her own name._

_Abby’s fathomless, beautiful eyes meet hers with all the intensity of their lost weekend and none of the immediate trust or connection. Raven sees nothing in them, no recognition, no openness; all of Abby’s considerable walls are up in an unimaginable instant. All Raven sees is Abby calculating potential doomsday scenarios and dealing with them as quickly as they came up._

_Anything that had happened between them prior to this moment is being summarily disregarded before her eyes. Raven is dismissed. And they are inexorably, necessarily nothing to each other from this moment on. They're two people who work together. Nothing more._

_Her heart races and her pulse picks up dangerously._

_Raven knows the way she operates in threatening situations, the way her heart is startlingly clear about what it does and does not want. It wants an end to the deep abandonment, neglect, and loss that she hides pretty well from everyone who knows her. The things that keep her up at night and running. The things that make her who she is._

_They are so alike and they are unimaginable to each other, strangers and hostile._

* * *

_Raven’s leaning gracefully against a cherry tree looking both interested and remote. Abby hasn’t followed any of the conversation because she knows everyone and their objectives backward and forwards. It’s her project. She’s even immediately accepted that Raven is here and yeah, Abby’s in shock but she’s furious and feels ambushed—_

_“So to sum up, we’re talking AI-based clinical decision-making, medical knowledge engineering, knowledge-based systems in medical education and research, intelligent medical information systems, intelligent databases, books, and libraries, intelligent devices and instruments, medical AI tools, reasoning and metareasoning in medicine, and methodological, philosophical, ethical and social issues of AI in medicine.”_

_Raven rattles off every application and angle any of them have ever thought of. It’s the only indication that she’s as unsettled and upset as Abby is. She wants to be anywhere but here so she’s trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible. “And I can help you. That’s why I’m here. Great, are we all settled? Reconvene back home next week?”_

_Marcus and Sinclair beam at her. Jaha laughs and watches Abby, who hides her inexplicable hurt at Raven’s need to flee the scene._

_“Fine, but we start with the day to day needs of both patients and clinicians.”_

_“Of course. Where else? Are we done? I have a flight back to school to catch. This one,” she points at Sinclair, "is all over my ass right now."_

* * *

“So what you have is a system that can monitor changes in a patient's condition faster than say, an overworked, over-tired, well-meaning doctor; it might scan laboratory test results or drug orders and send reminders or warnings to you.”

“Yes,” Abby nods her head as they walk towards the elevator bank, “When someone’s case is complex, rare or the person making the diagnosis is incompetent or worse, negligent, we’re hoping that a quantum-based artificial intelligence can help come up with likely diagnoses based on the full spectrum of available patient data from all over the world in a matter of seconds. That’s what you and Sinclair have been insisting on from the beginning, right?

“Yes. I think we can do more.” Raven holds the elevator door open for her.

“Hold on.” Abby nods at several people in the elevator and refuses to look at Raven, who shuts up with an amused look on her face.

They step off on their floor and continue.

“Your augmented reality—works in real time. Your time.” Raven continues blithely.

“Yep,” From years of experience, Abby can recite the elevator pitch in her sleep, and has. _“_ _Augmented reality systems used to overlay relevant information required during surgery typically displayed on multiple monitors stacked around the surgeon—pre-operative images, lab test results and details of previous surgeries.”_

“What if we went further? A quantum system that looks for inconsistencies, errors, and omissions in existing treatment plans, while simultaneously formulating a treatment based on a patient's specific condition and within accepted treatment guidelines. It assists with therapy critique and planning. A.I agents could retrieve information relevant to a particular problem and it draws on _your_ own preferences, _your_ needs as a doctor and the _patient_ ’s specific needs.

“That’s exactly what I want.” Abby is still not looking at her, “A quantum platform would have access across multitudes of similar patient histories and protocols in seconds, along with thousands, millions of clinicians’ medical knowledge to draw on. Instantaneous assessment with an almost perfect percentage of diagnostic power.”

Abby almost sighs in relief; Raven _can_ do her job; she’s very good at it. “Come on, follow me. This needs to stay hands on. Whatever else follows, we need to start with what’s real.”

And for an hour, she gamely forgets that she has no idea who Raven Reyes is or that she would like to drag her into a secluded stairwell and shove her up against—and oh, jesus christ.

* * *

After finishing rounds—and Raven has been a perfect companion and colleague, observing and asking every obvious or nuanced question that needs to be asked related to the work they share now—they end up at the nurses’ station to write orders and notes on all the patients they saw together.

Abby explains the protocol to her, points out some detail work and the codes associated with whatever conditions they observed. Raven’s not writing anything down.

“Do you need to be taking notes?” Abby asks.

Raven smiles and shakes her head, “Natural intelligence and eidetic memory.”

“Of course,” Abby says. Because Raven’s perfect.

Abby stops talking after that and concentrates on her charts while Raven leans against the desk and watches her scribbling away. Abby quickly enters essential instructions into the computer, with more suggestions as to where and how the team would be better served by A.I. while multi-tasking as she scans lab reports and adds detailed notes for the next shift. Then she stands and stretches.

“That’s it for tonight,” Abby says, unnecessarily.

Somewhere, and it’s happened at all intervals all through the shift, monitors beep crazily and then fall silent. At one point they passed thru the Trauma unit and Abby had noticed Raven’s go pale but chalked it up to any sane civilian’s visit to Trauma. But every time machines go off, the silence is as painful as the cacophonic noise that precedes it. Raven has navigated it the best she can, for as long as she can, but the adrenaline and stress finally catch up with her.

And then, Abby looks up at her. “You okay?”

Raven takes a shaky breath and looks anywhere else but at Abby. Her skin looks pasty and her breathing is slightly off.

Abby curses herself for not saying anything earlier, “Hospitals are tough." 

“Understatement. I was in a lot of them when I was younger, practically lived in them,” comes the very soft answer. “My mom.”

Raven’s looks very sketchy, slightly nauseous and feverish. She’s not even present. She’s back somewhere in whatever horrifying moments she managed to survive.

“Jackson,” Abby says, never taking her eyes off Raven. “Here’s the paperwork. I’m taking off early.” 

“Oh hey, Abby. No problem. Is she alright?”

Abby places her hand on the back of Raven’s neck and massages gently; she holds her up with pressure and support where she most needs it and murmurs, “Come with me.”

Raven manages not to fall, her sense of balance is off and she’s sinking deeper into a defensive, dissociative state. The walls are closing in. The pain and death and perpetual unreality of a trauma unit, a hospital, is terrifying. Abby recognizes Raven’s one thousand meter stare immediately because she’s experienced it. She went through it with Raven the first night they were together.

Raven does the best she can, counting slowly backward from 20, grateful for the heat emanating off of Abby’s body and through her fingers. Abby’s palm warms her up even as icy sweat trickles down her lower back. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Abby asks.

“No.” Raven leans against the building. “I’m okay.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Abby says gently; she cups Raven’s chin and studies her. “This place is hard for everyone. Even me. Death and uncertainty and pain, and we all come back every day to do it all over again. Not sure why I didn’t go into pediatrics; children are—there’s some hope there sometimes. What do you need right now?” 

“Nothing. The air feels nice,” Raven says. She tilts her head back and takes a deep, grateful breath of the early summer air. The night’s going to be unseasonably cooler; a storm is coming off the Cape and even in the city she can smell wood smoke. It relaxes her.

“You need something to eat, some orange juice, maybe. Go grab dinner and go home.”

Abby moves to let her leave, but Raven shakes her head and brings her hands up to keep Abby’s where she is. Where she’s safe. Abby brushes Raven’s cheek with the back of her hand.

“What happened with your mother, Raven?”

“Overdose.” Raven smiles weakly. It doesn’t reach her eyes, but the color is slowly returning to her face. She pushes off the wall and away from Abby. “Thanks for tonight. I’ll let Sinclair know we’ll set up a schedule.”

Abby lets her walk away and watches her until she disappears around the corner into the main parking lot. Even so raw and open—achingly vulnerable in the midst of enormous and obvious pain—clearly in some kind of deeply personal anguish; Raven had thought to turn around and sketch a wave at her before she’s out of sight. Abby sighs.

Raven’s going to break her heart.


	3. Chapter 3

“I thought you were getting out of the life?”

“Hello to you, too, Lexa. How was your day? You're such an asshole.” Raven hums through the phone, bent over at her workstation, a tension headache building. It’s almost 7 pm, and no one else is around. Abby and the others have left long before to go to some kind of strategy meeting. She’s supposed to meet them later for drinks.

She grabs another watermelon starburst. “Look. I just need—“

Lexa laughs softly, “Come on, Reyes. Hang up; throw that disgusting candy you’re having for dinner away and I’ll see you in twenty. I have really good left-overs.”

“From the Thai place?" 

“Yes.”

* * *

She hears socked feet from inside glide over the floor and come closer, the door opens and Raven walks through the long entranceway into the familiar and comforting space.Her hello is muted. It’s probably an early sugar crash. 

They stare at each other. Raven has nothing prepared, no stated explanation except a need to—she hardly even knows. 

Her only thought is that Lexa is always more beautiful in person than Raven’s memories of her are. It’s been that way no matter how little time passes between seeing each other. In this case, it’s been an endless two days.

The loose sweatpants and old worn tee-shirt Lexa wears worship every curve and muscle of her dancer's body, and her sensual mouth is pretty obviously fighting to hide her total pleasure at seeing Raven. It’s a game they play. Anya’s better at it. Lexa’s poker face is for shit.

It’s hard to read her precise expression without seeing her eyes. It’s her eyes that give her mood away and right now the lights are too dim in the loft to see them fully, but Raven can feel the exasperated welcome radiating from her and that’s enough.

Finally Raven says, “Lexa, I made a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

Lexa holds out her hand and Raven takes it, the warmth of Lexa’s palm easing her through an unexpectedly hairy moment, and pulling her gently across the elegant, lived-in loft to the sitting area overlooking the city. She waits patiently while Lexa fucks around with the dimmer switches and lights some candles.

“Drink? The food can be microwaved whenever you want it.”

“Yes, please. A drink will do for now.”

Lexa nods and Raven relaxes immediately. Lexa is extremely intelligent and unbelievably sensitive, empathic, underneath her aloof and slightly terrifying exterior. Raven’s hoping it doesn’t take her long to guess her state of mind from almost nothing to go on. She so doesn’t want to explain anything. It’ll sound insane.

She _knows_ she’s being impossible. And Lexa, god bless her, seems to draw even more authority from Raven’s clumsy and stricken inability to just come out and say anything other than one or two words at a time. It’s a little infuriating.

Raven puts her bag down, not quite following Lexa, but unwilling to let her out of close range. Raven didn’t even have to answer the call if she hadn’t wanted to; she has to remember that in order not to run.

Lexa can’t gauge anything from Raven’s terse responses or her very vague phone conversation but she’s able to feel her every emotion like her own. Raven looks panicked and wan. So, Lexa moves slowly and surely beyond the light, down past the windows and pours each of them two scotches, neat. If she can radiate calm, Raven will settle.

Raven laughs a little, “How’d you know it’s that kind of night?”

Lexa hides a smile, “Sit, okay? I’m here.”

When Raven runs her hands over her face and finally sprawls inelegantly on the couch, Lexa turns and brings the drinks over and waits some more.

“I’ve fallen for a client.”

“Oh. Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

Lexa allows herself a private moment of joy, a passing impatience with Raven’s stubbornness, and this old element—the innocent, bewildered kid—well, she hasn’t seen it in her friend in years.

She can only repeat herself, this time in a whisper, stroking through Raven’s soft waves of hair, “Shh. Okay. I’m sorry …”

Raven reaches for Lexa’s hand and squeezes it, “I know you were joking on the phone. But yes, I'm getting out. I have to. Now, especially." 

“You have the dream job now.”

Raven looks up and smiles shyly, “You heard?”

“Of course,"Lexa laughs. It’s a lovely, rare thing and it transforms her. "Even when you don't tell me anything. Even when you disappear. From everything.”

That’s what people don’t know about this immensely intelligent, beautiful woman. Raven’s as open as a field in high summer and that vulnerability scares the shit out of her and attracts everyone else to her like moths to a flame.

She spooks so easily and lashes out so quickly; she’s been hurt deeply and if Lexa could she’d skin Raven's mother, _and Finn_ alive—it’s always been this way. It’ll always _be_ that way unless something changes. Something has, and hope blooms in Lexa's chest.

“Love’s a stupid thing.” Lexa finishes her drink quickly, needing the warmth of it immediately. 

“You’re so full of shit, Alexandria.”

Lexa says nothing. It occurs to Raven that Lexa is doing what she does for her—drawing her along deeper into their shared, secret twilight. From the moment she answered that phone call she had everything to lose. And only Lexa would understand.

They’ve been close, ever since that first ridiculous couple of months in grade school when they hated each other and Lexa had given Raven a split lip over a Twinkie and a tuna fish sandwich even though Raven would have happily just given it to her if she’d asked, and there’s just enough light in the place to see Lexa is more open and full of joy than she’s ever been. Lexa’s happy to see it in Raven; it’s about time.

“I’m… I met someone too.” Lexa murmurs. “It’s early and I’m not—“

“ _What?_ I saw you like, yesterday and you didn’t say anything.”

“I met her yesterday. A friend of Octavia’s. She’s—“

“Who is she? I’ll kill her.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t think she likes me.”

“You’re a withholding bitch. What’s not to love?”

Lexa snorts and inhales Scotch up her nose. 

Raven waits out Lexa’s sneezing and cursing and then presses her hands through Lexa’s hair.

“Jesus, you’re worse than me, you know that? We don't do things like the rest.” 

The two of them are more alike than they can manage together; they tried. It was a serious weather event, a force majeure and it almost ended their friendship. Anya was furious at them for crossing the line between friendship and lovers. None of them spoke to one another for two years. 

Raven draws a deep breath and warning bells go off for Lexa immediately, “I don’t know. For weeks it’s been strange. I mean, everything looks too sharp, too real. I feel different. Is that how you feel? I can barely look at myself in a mirror—I have no idea who’s looking back. I’m not in my body, I’m just observing as best I can. And I’ve been furious with you—with both of us. You scare the shit out of me and this is your fault…”

Raven gives a short, sharp disgusted sound. “Fuck, Lexa. Why couldn’t we manage it?”

“It?” Lexa’s stalling and Raven rolls her eyes because, please. Lexa is the _worst_. She knows exactly when to do absolutely _nothing_.

Raven tugs at Lexa's scalp sharply, to get a response. Any kind of response.

“ _Us_ , Lexa. Why couldn’t we manage us?” 

Raven calms a bit and says, “I’m going to tell you something, Lexa. You deserve to fall in love. I know that, at least. But me? Am I that stupid?”

“Yes. We tend to fight it.” Lexa tilts her head, “Raven, why are you crying?”

Raven doesn’t know what to do and she just looks at her feet. She was crying? Since when? When did she start crying? Even the funny, absurd parts of this whole thing make her want to cry. Ugh, she hates this.

They stare at each other in confusion, wary, and they silently calculate the damage either of them could inflict without even thinking about it. It’s unnerving and it hurts. They learned about love together. They learned about almost everything together. The one rule they have is to never abandon what they are and who they are together. They’ve promised to keep it that way no matter what happens, but there are no words right now, and a whole lot of confusion and they aren’t strangers in the end. Right now, there just isn’t any way to sanely talk about what both of them are so frightened of. Other people are hell.

So they do what they’ve always done. Raven puts her hands on Lexa’s neck, and her bare skin is smooth and warm. Raven is upset enough to think that Lexa might refuse her or hit her, but that doesn’t happen. That would never happen. The kiss is every part of them, familiar and new.

Raven’s mouth tastes of gloss and salt. They draw away for a second and Raven puts her arms possessively around Lexa’s shoulders, her strength exactly what Lexa needs to feel, and they kiss again. Lexa moans softly, a quiet, weighted sound. There’s that moment, There’s that weird, odd feeling of knowing someone better than they know themselves. 

The four-year-olds they once were, the pinky-swear best friends with dirt smeared on their faces and ripped clothes from playing forts and climbing trees in the woods all day and sharing nickels to buy ice cream, look on at whatever the fuck is happening in almost palpable hilarity and if one of them laughs just once it’ll all fall apart and they’ll have to just go out for drinks or have a slumber party and watch stupid rom-coms.

But their tongues and mouths and lips, alive and seeking, soft and eager. And the two toddlers they once were walk away and give them their privacy because, gross.

Lexa’s low, pleased sounds pierce Raven down the whole of her spine. She doesn’t want to even think of the only other woman who she’s felt this with and how it’s in no way, shape or form the same. That realization is such a relief her legs almost give out and Lexa pulls back to make sure she’s okay, grabbing her by her collar and her waist to steady her. They lean their foreheads together and, “Raven—“

Raven pushes her hard into the couch, between the cushions and the throw blankets. She pulls at Lexa’s clothes, grabbing at her shirt, the ties at her waist. Lexa bites her on her lower lip, not quite playfully. She pulls away, then moves back and Raven draws her mouth over her throat, forcing Lexa further against the back of one of the headrests. She pulls Lexa’s hair and slides her face down, caressing over Lexa’s mouth, her neck, across her shoulders, against Lexa’s chest until she finds a nipple, small and hard, and takes it into the warmth of her mouth. Lexa’s hips cant up and her body goes rigid, and Raven feels her shiver along her entire length. 

“Easy.” Raven brushes a line of kisses over Lexa’s breasts and down her chest. She strokes her fingers through Lexa’s hair and down the back of her neck before biting down again on her nipple, soothing it with her tongue.

“Raven,” Lexa murmurs. Raven trails kisses down the center of her body, and Lexa opens to her. The slow glide of Raven’s tongue pulses and caresses her heat. She doesn’t want to come; she wants to be held on to and loved and she wants to feel this good for as long as she can. Because everything else is so hard; and this is so beautiful for her, for both of them.

After a long, long easy time, Lexa embraces Raven and when she tightens her grip Raven rises above her, desperate to please her, up to her full height and bends down again to kiss her mouth, her breasts, pulling each of her nipples through her teeth—agonizingly slowly—and flicking her tongue against them as she does. Lexa yelps and she bites Raven again in retaliation, laughing when Raven curses and loses her balance against her. Lexa sits up to pull off her tee shirt in some kind of triumphant move that only she could pull off.

Both of them laugh at the same time. Whenever they got lost in the woods they would find their way out, together. There was nothing to worry about if they followed the river downstream to the two-lane country road and then back up the mountain.

Lexa, from her position underneath her, hauls Raven up so Raven is straddling her thighs. Lexa traps Raven’s nipple between her teeth and just holds it there and closes her eyes in ecstasy, sounds coming up from her chest and vibrating against Raven’s extremely sensitive skin. Lexa can feel Raven hardening against her tongue and she can feel Raven's hips move unconsciously. The sensation is unbearable. Being patient is ridiculous.

Lexa tilts her face up, and holds Raven against her chest, kisses her eyes and parts her lips with her tongue. Raven’s helplessness is what she wants and when she gets it she forgets who she is. Lexa can let go. Raven is so far gone already that Lexa trusts exactly wherever they are.

None of the ordinary sounds of the city at night pull them out of this; none of it can touch them. Whatever’s happening in their lives doesn’t matter right now. It never does. They’re outside time, with all their memories gone, their obliterating desire saves them. 

Both of them are overwhelmed, lost in all-consuming sensation, a sheen of sweat between them, and the sound of their skin on fabric and skin on skin, as their limbs slide and tangle together in restless fervor. It’s everything. It’s the sound of them, the truth of them.They kiss, dimly aware that they need to slow things down or one or both of them is going to go over too fast. Raven’s hands are clasped behind Lexa’s head, and she’s licking the underside of her jaw, kissing her, unraveling above her. She’s teasing Lexa and making her frantic, pushing her.

Lexa roughly undoes the buttons of Ravens pants and reaches around and under the waistline—one hand palming Raven’s gorgeous ass and the other landing a retaliatory, warning slap across her face. Enough to get Raven’s attention, and Raven looks down at her with a _are you fucking with me right now?_  

Lexa doesn’t have to answer. The thing itself is easy. They both stop breathing as Lexa’s hand parts Raven’s legs even wider and slips in.

They move closer, deeper and then, for an eternity of a few seconds, they stop. Instead of an ecstatic delirium, they go quiet and still. They have what they want; an uncanny sense of coming home—staring into each other’s eyes in a state of expansive wonder.

That it’s so easy between them, that they can do this without fucking, that they know this is where they can find themselves and rest. They’re safe.

Raven gazes at Lexa, the girl she knows. Lexa returns her gaze, overwhelmed and grateful.

She whispers Lexa’s name like the first time she did when they met, with a sense of fate and happiness and _finally, there you are. What took you so long_. It’s deliberate, like trying out a new language. Lexa strokes her face with her other hand and says her name back.

And Raven, after a shocked boundlessness, speaks the three awkward as hell, at least in the English language, words that make them both whole. The three words she has never been shy to say to her. The first three words she _really_ said when they met one day on the playground, _“Hi. My name’s Raven. Want some grape soda?”_

Neither of them are particularly religious, but it’s impossible not to think of a god or a source, a center of All That Is surrounding them, watching over them. The rain will come, the storm will break, but right now at this moment in time the atmosphere will dance for them and frighten them. And they’ll hold each other’s hand as the wind picks up over the waves.

They remain motionless; they drew their tongues languidly over the other’s skin, murmuring into each other’s ears. Raven caresses Lexa’s back slowly, making sure to reach every curve, touch every inch, worship every smooth plane of muscle. 

They kiss softly, and Lexa doesn’t move her hand and Raven doesn’t move her hips. They fill themselves with each other. And they’re young and strong and deeply in love and waiting is not what they want to do, because they have nothing to prove to one another, no reason for being with each other except pleasure and reassurance.

When they do move, they move with one purpose, in an unhurried lovely trance of a mood, with time to go to the end of the world and come back to make sure they’re together and then go out again on the adventure. They could walk away and explore or just wait. It doesn’t matter. 

It isn’t easy, being lifted up so high and then drifting so softly back down again at Lexa’s pleasure. Whatever Lexa wants from her she’s taking, whatever she promises her she’s giving. Raven follows the sound of Lexa’s voice. The teasing, loving quality of Lexa’s stated, definite, desires. There’s darkness and light in them. They’re both unapologetically lewd and quietly sacred. And Raven gave up any control she even imagined she has when Lexa’s requests became serious and urgent.

It’s the sound of Lexa’s voice that does it. She’s calling to her, inviting her, murmuring in her ear. “Let go, baby. Please. I’m here.”

Raven opens her eyes, enveloped in silence. There’s no sound, not a thing rings out as she comes over and over until she has to gasp for air and sees scattershot stars around the edges of her vision. 

She loses her name, who she is. Lexa’s fingers caress her and bring her to the edge a second time before she can think and she goes over again into a delirious free fall. It lasts so long that she can’t speak or beg or do anything at all. She’s pure being.

They might be saying goodbye to everything they know about each other. But they’ve done this before. There are as many goodbyes as there are returns. The shape of things is already different now. But they, the two of them together, will never really end.

* * *

She had to have been imagining it; she hears Lexa’s heartbeat and the rustle of a blanket Lexa drapes over both of them. 

Raven listens for a bit and then turns back to Lexa to stroke lightly down her chest and lean stomach, and is about to ask if she’d heard something when Lexa tightens her grip on her arm and Raven picks her head up again and looks over the sofa towards the front door.

Clarke and Octavia come slowly into view. Lexa looks at them with one of the more hilarious expressions Raven’s ever seen. Shock and mortification quickly become glacial irritation.

Raven drops her head to Lexa’s neck and groans, “Who gave you keys?” 

“It was open, you idiots.” Octavia sounds far too amused. Clarke just stares. Lexa rolls over gracefully and reaches to the floor to grab her clothes. She shifts Raven off of her and gets up, giving Octavia and Clarke a pretty good show while putting her shirt back on.

“I invited them after you called.” Raven mumbles, “Thought we might go out or something? I didn’t think—you know— whatever.”

Lexa strolls back to the kitchen while Raven wraps herself up in the throw blanket and sits up. “You guys—“

“Would love a drink, yes please.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Raven sighs and snuggles back into the couch, resting her chin on its edge so she can see them.

“Long enough.” Octavia drops her coat and bag on the nearest chair and kicks off her boots. Clarke really hasn’t moved and Lexa watches her. Raven realizes if Clarke doesn’t do something soon she’s going have to take care of Clarke. That’s annoying. She’s too comfortable in her little cocoon.

“Clarke, come in. Relax. You’re making me nervous. Have you met Lexa? Lexa this is Clar—”

Lexa nods sharply, “We met _yesterday_.”

“Oh?” Raven’s confused until she sees Lexa staring daggers at her. It shreds Raven’s pretty intense case of post-orgasmic haze and the penny drops. “Oh!”

Lexa’s eye roll is not to be believed.

Clarke shifts a little on her feet and looks about as pissed off as Lexa does, “Are we interrupting?”

“Nope.” Both Lexa and Raven answer at the same time.

“It’s just how they communicate,” Octavia explains.

“Do you talk often?” Clarke asks softly.

“No.” “Yes.”

Octavia throws a pillow at Raven’s head. “What is _wrong_ with you two?”

* * *

Later.

“I was wondering,” Lexa leans over Clarke’s shoulder, “if you’d want to get a drink with . . .”

“No,” Clarke says, completely lying. She leans forward on the counter and looks back at Lexa carefully, so as not to fall off her chair. The Añejos came out a while ago. 

“A cup of coffee?” Lexa persists. “No?”

Clarke shakes her head again.

“You don’t drink coffee? Well . . . you could get tea! Even herbal tea, I’m sure . . .”

“How about just a walk?” Clarke smiles. She smiles with the corners of her mouth, though not with her eyes.

“A walk? You mean go walking?”

“Yeah. A walk.”

“I’d love to. I love walking.”

“Are you guys retarded? This is the lamest—“

“Octavia,” Raven practically yells.

They’re all stupid drunk and Clarke watches Lexa walk, or glide, or _something impossible_ back over to the sitting area, spectacularly miss the couch by a mile or two and land elegantly, saving herself and her dignity, between Raven’s legs. She holds her drink above her head so there’s nothing spilled. Of course.

Clarke wanders over and sits on Octavia’s lap. “So how do you all know each other?” She takes an innocent sip of her tequila.

“Best friends,” Lexa says before Raven can open her mouth.

“Who fuck,” Clarke states.

“It’s how we solve problems and get things done.” Lexa smiles, “Always has been. I can think better afterward.”

“I can’t think at all. Which is good.” Raven points at her head.

“I met these two weirdos in grade school. Lexa punched Raven and—“

Lexa nods sagely, “I did.”

“I had chocolate milk, I think. She wanted it.”

“I wanted your sandwich. My mother made the worst sandwiches.”

* * *

Clarke slides off Octavia’s lap, stretches and walks over to the windows to see the city below. If Clarke notices Lexa’s attention she doesn’t let on. Lexa puts her glass down and crosses over to open a window. She crawls through and holds out her hand for Clarke to follow. Clarke hesitates for only a few seconds and then grabs Lexa’s hand and finds herself in another world.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers. “Did you do all of this?” 

A muscle jumps along Lexa's jaw, she doesn't answer and she wanders further out onto the deck. Christmas lights are strung throughout the space and she flicks a switch to turn them on. Without a word, she pulls leaves off plants and gives them to Clarke to taste—basil, mint, sage—some bitter, some sweet.

Lexa lies down and stretches out, her hands behind her head like she’s lying in a meadow and bundled up in her deep red sweater, she points out Orion and the big dipper and the Pleiades. Because those are the ones everyone points out.

“I’m a Cancer and I forget where that is in the sky. Apparently,” Lexa says, “Cancer means I’m highly imaginative, loyal, emotional, suspicious and moody as shit but not fiery. I like freedom and oatmeal cookies, generally and don’t ever cross me.”

“Is that what you’re like?” Clarke sits next to her, charmed despite herself—by the space and the lights and the beauty of the night—she tells herself. Surely, that’s all.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you… do you actually go by astrology or any of that?” Clarke asks and cringes. It would be awful if Lexa admitted she did. It’s a test. Lexa takes it seriously.

“No. I like candles, tho. And flowers. They have no magical or mystical qualities that I’m aware of except they make me feel wonderful. So you can relax." 

“Good. Good,” Clarke responds, without looking at Lexa. She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, her eyes still on the stars.

Lexa watches her for a while, wonders whether she’s serene or just uninterested. Clarke doesn’t look back even though her entire attention is focused on Lexa.

“What’s your problem with me, Clarke?” 

Clarke whips around and stares. 

Clarke is dumbfounded. Lexa doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t seem to realize she could destroy someone else’s life, break someone’s heart, if she casually went around just asking girls, _asking her_ , out like this? After obviously fucking Raven into a very enviable coma? What, even?

“You and I do things a little differently,” Clarke snaps. “I won't jump into bed with you an hour after you’ve been with Raven. You seem to have your shit all worked out already.”

“You had some issues with me yesterday and you didn’t know about Raven then.”

“You’re... entitled, obnoxious, vain." Lexa's eyes narrow, Clarke can't tell if it's in amusement, and Clarke can't stop herself, "I almost went home with you and I didn’t know about Raven or anything. I don’t even know what you do. I can guess? You’re a corporate lawyer or you come from money or both. This space is unreal and costs a fortune.” Clarke says, annoyed at the tone of her own voice. It’s laced with hurt. “What the fuck would have happened afterward? If we had screwed around? Is this like a thing? With Raven? People just have to accept this about you? Because that’s bullshit.”

“I like you, Clarke. It’s pretty simple.”

“I don’t do things like you do. I don’t share. And I don’t do casual.”

“Ah. And you think I do.” It’s said softly, unconcerned. Which makes Clarke even more upset. 

Clarke stares at Lexa incredulously. This woman is insane. In retaliation, she gestures at Raven through the window, who’s (weirdly) upside down on the couch with her legs thrown over the back of her head in an obnoxiously flexible yoga pose having a dead serious conversation with Octavia, as if that explains everything. 

Lexa leans close into Clarke. She’s pissed at Clarke’s assumptions and her snap judgments. Sure, she and Raven do things their way but, whatever. It’s her and Raven.

She whispers into Clarke’s ear. “I don’t know what casual is.” And smiles against her temple when she feels Clarke shiver.

She’s seen the faint flush climb Clarke’s neck. She’s angry enough that she just wants to tease Clarke into a fury. It would be so easy, really. She’s already mostly there. Lexa’s body, her intuition, her senses say not to let Clarke go no matter what. Whether Clarke despises her or not; Lexa is stunned by Clarke. She was yesterday and she is today.

“Fucking absolutely not. You’re unbelievable.”

Lexa just laughs. Because otherwise, she might cry. There’s not enough time in the world to explain everything to Clarke. To anyone, really. Octavia knows some of it, and Raven knows all of it. But tonight, just now, there’s not enough time.

Clarke looks at her a long time, and then she finishes her drink and climbs back through the window. And Lexa sits looking up at the stars and the satellites and the planets and the reflections of the bridges and their lights against the low clouds for a while longer before heading back in.

* * *

Raven waves her phone around. “Hey! I’m supposed to meet my team for drinks. It’s still early right?”

She squints at the succinct, polite, unemotional, reasonable text message she’s received from Abby. Yep. Drinks. And at a place not far away, which thank you, God, because tequila is tequila.

Everybody else and their tequila agrees immediately.

It astonishes her how fast Lexa can look unbelievably put together and ravishing even when drunk off her ass. She just throws on a scarf or some shit and wow. Octavia and Clarke are kind of the same way. Or maybe they’re all just that attractive. Raven tries but Lexa has to come over and find her socks and zip up her boots for her and fix the buttons on her shirt and let her borrow those amazing wool and silk-blend tapered pants; and her riding boots but then they all agree that the pants look super cute with Raven’s sneakers actually and then they are out the door.

The cab ride over (six blocks) is both awkward and loud. Lexa ends up on Clarke’s lap and just smiles sweetly at her the whole time while answering Octavia’s questions about who knows what and Clarke refuses to look at her, except when she does and then she just glares at her while answering Raven’s questions about their upcoming Thanksgiving plans.

“So we’re all going to be free, right? We can all take that week off and go out to the island.” Clarke asks. “I still have keys to my family’s old farmhouse, or at least the guesthouse. Which used to be my mother’s old lab and my father’s workspace.”

“Can I come?” Lexa asks innocently.

“YES.” Raven and Octavia yell.

“Uhm. Yes.” Clarke says after a minute.

“Bellamy’s coming too. It’ll be great. I think he’s bringing Gina. Which, oh my god, I love her. I think she’s really good for him. He’s not a controlling douche so much.”

Raven looks at Clarke, “Did you okay this with your mom? I thought you didn’t talk to her.”

“I don’t.”

The silence is a little confused and uncomfortable. Clarke sighs. “It doesn’t matter, you guys. My mom hasn’t used the place since Dad died. I’m going out a day early to air it out and stock up. Lord knows what’s taken up residence there.”

“Oh.”

“OK.”

“Hm. That’s cool.”

“Lincoln and I will come and help.” Octavia smiles. “I’ll cook. Clarke, you’re not allowed to cook. Not even hot pockets.”

Clarke smiles back. It’s genuine and grateful and that’s the mood they arrive in when they pile out of the car. 

“Oh man, I’m so excited for you all to meet the team. They’re bananas. I love them.” Raven grins at Clarke as she helps Raven fix her collar again and checks to see if her pants are buttoned. All good. 

“And I love you.” She touches her nose to Clarke’s briefly and Clarke laughs, delighted.

Lexa plants a very big, wet kiss on Raven’s cheek just to fuck with Clarke and then grabs Octavia’s hand and sweeps away.

“What the hell,” Clarke mumbles under her breath. 

“What?”

“Nothing, let’s go drink some more. I want to meet your other nerd genius co-workers. You can’t be the only one.”

“Yay.”

* * *

They make their way through an unusually heavy weekday crowd. The place is both popular and still has a solid neighborhood vibe from before the unavoidable gentrification in this part of town. Lexa’s been living in the area since late middle school so she’s familiar with almost everyone she passes.

Clarke, as she follows and watches Lexa wave or stop to talk to them all, is stupefied with alcohol. She's fighting a very uneasy, and undeniable attraction to the tall, graceful, gorgeous (moody, arrogant, cavalier, entitled bitch) charismatic woman ahead of her. Lexa even leans in and gives the bartenders, all four of them, a sweet round of kisses in greeting. Seeing Lexa do that almost breaks her, and she stomps up to the bar. She signals Octavia to come and help her with the drinks. Octavia checks with both of the others for their requests and leaves them to find Raven’s team. 

She goes to open a tab and Clarke is annoyed all over again when she’s waved off and the bartender says, “It’s taken care of,” as she points in Lexa’s direction. “What can I get you?”

Octavia rattles off the order while Clarke steams.

Drinks procured, they go deeper into the bar and towards Raven and Lexa. Their backs are turned. Even their backs stand out as works of art, Clarke thinks idly. It’s not fair. She places a hand on Raven’s arm to get her attention and give her the glass of bourbon. The hand that reaches for the drink isn’t Raven’s. The hand that takes the drink is one of the most familiar things in her world there is. 

The ring is gone but a quick glance confirms that the ring is on her neck, on a chain that Jake had made for her. The men surrounding the woman who takes the drink from her are as familiar to her as her father.

Clarke looks up slowly; she’s coming up for air from deep underwater. Because that’s where she is. She’s drowning.

“Clarke?”

The voice is the most important voice she knows, besides her father’s. It’s the voice that sung her to sleep and whispered stories to her as she slept, and it’s the voice that made her laugh and made her cower in fear if she was angry. It’s the first voice, the first sound and cadence she ever heard in her life, the first known thing she turned to as a newborn seconds after being brought out into the light and right now, at this moment, that voice is barely above a whisper. Time stops. Everything stops. Everyone else in the entire world falls away.

Clarke lifts her head and stares. She answers as softly as she can, so as not to startle the earth into moving again because she won’t be able to bear it if it does. She lifts her head and looks at Abby.

“Mom.”


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke doesn’t know who catches her by the shirt and around her waist, keeping her upright before she almost goes south, but someone does. In a hazy, bizarrely confused moment she thinks it’s her mother, and that’s unbelievable, and when it becomes apparent that it _is_ Abby she knows for sure her world’s gone sideways.  
   
She’s terrified and furious at herself. Her initial reaction, a shock desperately slowed by the alcohol, speeds up impossibly. She loses her bearings as everything she’s run from in the last half-decade hits her all at once.  
   
Her mother hasn’t aged. It’s been years and her mother is as beautiful as she remembers. She will never not be overwhelmed with—God, she can’t think about beauty and safety or what she’s lost because she’s right back in the hospital cowering and sobbing in front of Abby—the scrubs her mother wears sprayed with blood and bone and fluid—she’s blinking against the awful fluorescent lights; and the shabby waiting area disappears into the background as her mother’s raw, equally broken gaze swims into focus.  
   
So this is happening in a bar, _and why the fuck not_ , Clarke thinks, taking a deep breath.  
   
“You didn’t even change your shirt. Then. When you told me.” She says, pitched just for Abby.  
   
And yes, it is her mother who’s taken hold of her. No one else who knows Clarke would dare touch her right now. Abby is looking at her like she’s the Holy Grail, shaking her head against her tears of surprise and grief. Clarke registers Abby’s lightning quick assessment of her state, physical and emotional, and—  
   
They’re moving. Moving very quickly. Abby is propelling them both through the crowd and out the door and down the street, keeping Clarke with her, leaving the others behind.  
   
“I thought you were dead.” Abby says, hoarsely.  
   
“That was the point,” Clarke murmurs through a roar of sound and she starts to cry in earnest.  
   
Clarke lets her haul them both into a dark walkway behind the bar. She’s pushed up against a brick wall and Abby honest to god checks her for injuries, gently, surely and unemotionally and she knows that her mother is in as much trouble as she is right now. Going through motions that help her get past high emotion, pain. Abby’s doing things she can do without thinking—inborn habits of caretaking.  
   
Frantic, unbelievable waves of relief, hurt and stress are radiating off both of them. Both of their heart rates are through the roof. Abby’s pressed against her, holding her up and she feels like Abby's breathing for her. She imagines that it’s Abby—her mother’s extraordinary, undeniable love—is what keeps her from going into cardiac arrest—and her body is clearly opting for a panic attack instead. She bites her lip, sharpens her wits with physical pain, desperate to test herself, anything, to stop herself from exploding in helpless, guilty rage.  
   
Abby finishes her inspections—and Clarke is reminded of her mother’s extraordinary will power—and she can feel bile coming up.  
   
She can’t let it go. She can’t forgive. She can’t feel devastated by her need for Abby and how much it took from her to remain unreachable and hidden. She’ll lose herself if she lets any of it go. Abby looks back mutely at her child, not an apparition, and holds Clarke’s face. They both need to accept this is real. It takes a few minutes, it seems like an eternity. Clarke waits for her vision to clear all the way, waits for whatever comes next.  
   
What comes next is the sense memory of Abby’s touch. it's so strong that Clarke doubles over in physical agony.  
   
“I’m sorry …” Abby says and then trails off, stupefied. Her voice is filled with relief. “You’re okay.”  
   
“What? Yes, of course.” Clarke says, inanely. She circles Abby’s wrists with her hands and hangs on for dear life.  
   
Abby eases them both down to the ground and wraps herself around Clarke. She sits against the wall and brings her daughter into an amazingly gentle embrace, kisses her while openly crying, and doesn’t let go. Her vision blurs. Clarke's eyes, her blue eyes. _Jake’s eyes_.  
   
“Mom.” Clarke’s grips at her mother’s shirt. Abby’s hands roam unconsciously over her shoulders, her face, through her hair.  
   
Clarke is necessary to her, and she never forgot or pushed it away or made Clarke’s being and memory anything less than her own life force. And for that one thing—she’s enormously proud. Abby did not forsake love, or Clarke.  
   
Time and circumstance and boundless pain didn’t take that away from her, because she didn’t let it.

* * *

“What the fuck.” Lexa takes one look at Raven and manages to get them both to the bathroom as quickly as possible. She stares at Raven who pretty much wants to die six different ways and looks anywhere else but at her friend.   
   
“MMm. Yeah.”  
   
Lexa narrows her eyes. “Yeah, okay. Maybe a heads up…?”  
   
“That Abby is Clarke's mother? Because I didn't know that until just now.” Raven says, a little pointedly. “Because now we _can_ talk about it. You’ve been gone awhile and let me buy you a mojito and let's spill the tea about the weirdest coincidence immediately? It still wouldn’t make sense after ten pitchers of mojitos.”

“I like sangria, you dick.”  
   
Raven sighs. “Okay, you know what? We’re not having this conversation. God knows you’re remarkably smug anyways—”  
   
Lexa, in a rare show of not being able to track any kind of sentence structure whatsoever, falls back on a standard reaction to a train wreck. “Oh no. No. _No no NO_. I can't believe Abby is the client—oh for fuck’s sake, Raven. She's Clarke's mom.”  
   
Raven clears her throat. “Yes. Got that. Like this is my fault somehow? How would I know you liked Clarke? Or that they're related. I mean.”  
   
“You're a human gay disaster—” Lexa says, as gently as she can.  
   
Raven scrambles under Lexa’s arm and heads for the door and plows right into some poor girl coming in at the same time who shrieks dramatically. Both Lexa and Raven glare at her and she mutters “Sorry, geez,” and slinks out.  
   
“Hey—” Lexa refocuses, covering her eyes with a hand.  
   
“Lexa--” Raven sighs. “C’mon. I told you about Abby, I'm freaking out— but Clarke? You like Clarke?”  
   
“Yes, well. Have you seen her?”  
   
Raven’s mouth falls open slightly, and Lexa cranes her head back and mutters, “Fuck.”  
   
Lexa does not, as a rule, react. Like, at all. This is alarming. Lexa gets her shit together and scoffs elegantly at everything and then looks at her with some sincere contempt. Lexa doesn’t need this right now. Watching Raven storm out is kind of hilarious, though, and she follows because now she has something to fix.  
   
She sighs, and texts Raven, who’s only 20 feet ahead of her, _You take YOUR CLIENT home and I’ll take care of Griffin the younger._  
  
Raven texts back immediately: _duck u_  
   
And then: _good plan. (Some weird string of emojis Lexa can’t sort out)_

* * *

It’s not a great plan, as plans go. That’s how they all end up standing cautiously around Abby and Clarke, still collapsed against the wall in each other’s arms.

Marcus plucks Raven's shirt as she attempts to roll past him and gives her a funny look, “I don’t think you want to get anywhere near that.” He subvocalizes. He raises an eyebrow in sympathy.  
   
“No,” Sinclair says just as quietly, “It might be the best idea.”  
   
Abby looks up at them, “We’re right here, guys.”  
   
“So. Why don’t we do this?” Raven says, “Abby, I don’t live far from here. Come home with me and relax a little. Clarke, you and O go home with Lexa, okay? This seems overwhelming right now and we’ve all had a night—take a bit to calm down and think about—“  
   
Clarke pulls out of her mother’s arms and nods. “Okay.”  
   
“Yes, fine.” Abby’s done. And she’s so tired. She’ll agree to anything.  
   
Clarke burrows back into her mom’s arms and rests her forehead against Abby’s. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I promise.”  
   
Abby looks quietly pleased, and shocked and anguished and happy all at the same time. Raven’s heart aches for her.  
   
“Abby?” Marcus steps forward and offers a hand to both of them. Abby grips on to him for dear life and he graciously passes her to Raven. Clarke's too stunned to notice anything and so Octavia and Lexa step forward and each of them takes a hand and lead her cautiously down the street.  
   
It takes Raven’s breath away when she sees Clarke look back at her mother, and she doesn’t dare look at Abby’s expression. No one does.

* * *

Raven is wearing only a pair of track pants and an old faded MIT hoodie, already back from her bedroom, and notices that Abby’s still hovering by the door, disoriented.  
   
“Abby.” She says softly, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”  
   
She knows nothing about this woman—except what she experienced over the course of three nights and now as a professional acquaintance. Part of her wanted to leave the bar; she wanted to walk out and keep going until she felt safe again.   
             
She knows this feeling. She experienced it in clinics she used to volunteer at out in California. Kids went out arrogantly, excited, with a fistful of acid or ecstasy laced a little too much with cough syrup and came back rough: nauseated, dehydrated and spooked. Mumbling about a flock of white cranes flying against a backdrop of dark thunderclouds. That’s how Raven feels right now. Indescribable joy. Disoriented.   
             
“Raven. You know what it is about you? It’s the recklessness. You obviously don’t know or give a shit one way or another about your own beauty and or your own careless effect on anyone else.” _On me._  
   
“Ah. Are you in shock? Because it looked a little extra emotional back there. Late night confessions? Or therapy? Which is it? We can do both. Or we can talk about what just happened. We can talk about Clarke.” Raven’s chest feels weird and her stomach, Jesus. Forget it.  
             
“Might as well,” Abby gently shoulders past her into the living room. She’s speaking formally. The indifference is back. "So yes, I'm not happy or comfortable with my world turning upside down every few weeks. How do you know Clarke?"  
   
Raven phone rings, almost on command, and she swipes at it, holds it up to her ear and she says, “Hey—all good?”  
   
And Abby can’t help but think the worst. Part of it, she knows, is the unexpected surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins; that’s always the case when she’s with Raven, but now she’s really at loose ends and vulnerable because of Clarke.   
   
And Abby feels an absurd flash of jealousy, because that's the easiest thing to feel right now. Raven totally notices and gives her a hilarious look and mouths _LEXA_ at her.  
   
Abby turns and tosses her coat on the side of a chair and goes to stand by the window until Raven’s off the phone.  
   
“They’re good,” Raven says, “all settled and safe.”

Abby prefers her emergencies physical rather than emotional. Until the night Jake ended up on her operating table, so contorted and destroyed she didn’t recognize him and it destroyed her. All the pain, loneliness, confusion and loss—Jake had been that one person who made up for all that—and she failed to know him for who he was when it counted. Jackson had known ten minutes into the surgery, by that time it was too late, no time to switch Abby out. And she hadn’t spoken to Jackson for two years because of it. She’d been an asshole.  
             
“You worked out West, didn’t you?” Abby asks Raven. There’s no need to ask, really. She knows Raven’s CV better than her own. “Clarke did too. I’m surprised you two didn’t know each other.”  
   
“ _Out West_ is pretty broad. I was in the Cascades in Washington, then Northern California.” Raven says, “And I’m four years older than Clarke. But yeah, we talked about it.”   
   
The work she’s done on her own in the Cascades with a guide and a small team: Biologists, ethnobotanists, geneticists, anthropologists, grad students. That’s part of who she is, and another part of her is relieved this all seems like a mirage compared to being out in the mountains. It saved her life after her mother died; when her mom got lost in her own grief and drug use. No one but Finn was around to handle Raven’s unbearable sadness and blame, so she went out _there._  
   
She doesn't even mind how weird this conversation is, how disjointed. Abby is in emotional shock. It's okay if she wants to pretend otherwise.   
   
“Clarke took the money, all of it, from the trust her father set up, and... ran. Legally emancipated.” Abby looks out the window.  
   
“California has the habit of attracting people who could go off the rails at a moment’s notice,” Raven leans against the wall. California had been her equivalent of Terra incognita. It was entirely possible she could have pointed herself west and kept going even after the continent ended. It was an appropriate destination for her; her mother’s death fucked her up really good. She wanted to fall off the edge of the world.  
   
“I felt so bad about all the privileged things I grew up with,” she had said once, high, sitting around a bonfire and failing to mention her mother had bankrupted them. And for the love of God, no one but a really young, naïve idiot says shit like she said, it’s absolutely cringe-inducing thinking about it now. She was a nitwit then.  
   
“I felt guilty about everything until my skin was like totally breaking out and I was getting this big black emptiness inside.” Raven says, “I’d imagine that was one of the reasons Clarke went, as well.”  
   
And what the hell? She’d faced down bears and survived dating someone who lived in a fruitarian co-op. There was always some random, freaky dude wandering the halls doing homemade speed. At first, she got off on it, like she knew she wanted strangeness, was looking for whatever excited her. People would disappear into the heroin dens upstairs and no one would see them until they showed up in the kitchen three days later eating cold tofu pups. And Bellamy and Octavia were trying to organize communal vegan meals. She could certainly deal with this person, Abby.  
   
Raven puts on her reading glasses and motions to Abby to come over and away from the window. She hands Abby a glass of wine.   
             
“Crazy story,” Abby takes a sip of the wine and gestures blandly at everything, at the whole night.  
             
“I’d love to hear it,” Raven says, “I mean, shit. Lay it on me.”  
   
“You know my daughter.”  
   
“NO.”  
   
“Yes, she didn’t tell you?"

* * *

Lexa’s speaking to Octavia, while very aware of Clarke, wracking her brains trying to figure out a way to stop thinking about the explosion of perfect ice blue eyes and starlight sitting next to her at the island in the kitchen area of her loft.  
   
“I don’t know, I envy Raven. Always have as long as I’ve known her. I love her; I love what she’ll do. My fantasy right now is to grab her and live in the woods rather than—”  
   
“You might want to rethink your wardrobe. Especially that extraordinary cashmere coat.” Clarke suggests mildly, around a mouthful of water, before realizing she’s spoken.  
   
Both Octavia and Lexa pause and look at her politely. Fuck.  
   
Lexa can’t help herself. “Thank you. For your advice.” 

* * *

When Abby's eyes start to gleam with tears, Raven says, “I know. Sit there on the couch and I’ll get some blankets.” 

Raven sinks down in front of her and Raven begins to unzip and take off her boots. She peels off Abby’s socks and gives a few minutes of undivided attention to Abby’s sore feet. When she begins to knead her arches Abby lets out a small moan. Abby lays her head back and stares at nothing, letting the pleasure roll up from the soles of her feet and through her body; her anxiety and anguish falling away. Raven squeezes her feet gently and goes to get some throw blankets. Raven tucks her in and makes sure she has a good grip on the mug and then sits with her, bringing Abby’s legs up on to her lap again.  
   
Raven glances up at her briefly and then goes right back to the delightful task of massaging Abby’s perfect feet. “I know something about mothers and daughters. You and Clarke seem pretty exceptional, the both of you. I’m… curious? And I have no stake in what comes of it.”  
   
“No stake at all. Just curiosity?” Abby repeats, mildly skeptical.  
   
“For now,” Raven nods, taking a sip of the hot cocoa she made them, there’s some whipped cream on her upper lip and Abby fixates on it. “Ugh, god. This is good. I made it with—“  
   
“Raven. You know as much as I do about this version of Clarke. I’ve told you everything I know.”  
   
Raven doesn’t answer. She reaches down and puts her mug to the side on the floor and then holds up the fluffiest, most colorful wool socks Abby’s ever seen. She slips them on Abby’s feet and says, “Okay, wiggle your toes.”  
   
The sensation is indescribable. And when Raven starts to massage her feet in earnest the combination of the pressure and the soft, warm material against her skin has her eyes rolling back in her head. Her physician’s brain mulls it over and drifts aimlessly enveloped in pleasure and she tastes, feels, catalogs what she’s feeling as, of course, ecstasy—a complex emotion containing elements of joy, fear, terror, triumph, surrender, and empathy. It's not comforting, which to her and most probably to Raven is a tremendously barren idea.

“You can’t always take care of me, Raven. I don’t want you to. That’s not us.” She murmurs.  
   
“There is no us, Abby,” Raven says.  
   
“Was this a mistake?”  
   
“You paid me. You threw money at me, back there, at the end. You haven’t told anyone in your world who I am. You haven’t come out to anyone about needing an escort, escorts, for however long so you don’t have to feel a thing you don’t want to. So no. There’s nothing between us. We had a transaction, an agreement.”  
   
Abby’s silent.  
   
“It’s killing me not to talk to you,” Raven says quietly.  
   
Abby hums and settles deeper into the couch, “You can’t say what happened between us was a normal thing, in your vast experience, can you?”  
   
Raven pauses her massage until Abby can’t deal and it becomes unacceptable and Abby wiggles her toes pointedly, and Raven snorts and starts up again.  
   
“And at some point, you’ll have to tell me why you’re only comfortable talking to me when we’re high.”

Raven rolls her eyes at her.  
   
She points at the moon through the windows and the way the light spills through the apartment as if to say, how else?   
   
And then, because Abby can’t really answer her, can’t deny the obvious point of enjoying moonlight and emotion and warmth, it’s Abby who leans over, mouth ghosting over Raven’s, her gentle hands reaching for Raven’s neck, her tongue tasting the whipped cream.  
   
Raven laughs when she realizes what she’s done.  
   
“How long has that been there?”  
   
“Shhh.”  
   
Fingers slide along Raven’s collarbone and Abby keeps Raven close to her, and they trade languid, slow, and soft kisses; molding themselves to the other’s body.  
   
Raven pulls away, “Abby, I— look, this is fantastic, amazing actually. But not what you need right now… will you talk to me?”  
   
"Sure," Abby says, stretching out her arms before rolling her neck and looking back at Raven. She doesn’t have to say a thing about how off balance she is. "What do you want to talk about?"  
   
Abby knows anyway. Raven wants her. The desire for each other might as well be all they are right now, but Raven’s right to stop things. Abby’s life was upended tonight, only a couple of hours ago. And all Abby wants to do is take this girl. She’s wanted to since she met her.  
   
“So yeah, Abby. We need to get something clear. I know what you’re feeling. I know. Me too. I slept with someone I love and trust before we went out tonight because I had to. I’ve been lonely and… drifting.” Raven reaches out to run her fingers thru Abby’s hair over and over; she’s doing it deliberately, and kindly. She’s doing it to soothe her.  
   
“But, please,“ and Raven’s voice is as soft as Abby’s ever heard her, “Please talk to me more about Clarke.”  
   
Abby takes a deep breath and snuggles down into the blankets, vaguely amused at herself that she’s not a vicious jealous bitch because Raven fucked someone else. (And with a mental high five) she begins. “I remember this from when we were in the desert together. It’s nice. Your body, Raven. You’re nice.”   
   
“I remember, too,“ Raven nuzzles Abby’s temple, “You’re hard to forget. We can be furious with each other in the morning. But right now, let me know anything you want to.”  
   
“Clarke is my life.” And Abby wonders if she has to say anything more. That seems to encapsulate everything. Her heart knows that there’s more to say, there’s the whole wide world to explain and build around who and what Clarke is to her. It’s a relief, a miracle. No one is what Clarke is to her. Not even Jake.  
   
“Clarke is the message of my life, Raven. There’s nothing else in my life that I love more and the thing about being a surgeon? about being a mother, about being someone who loves like that? You can fuck it up. It can be the biggest disaster that ever happened. Because nothing lasts. Panta Rhei. Everything flows, everything changes.”  
   
Raven strokes through her hair and is quiet while Abby remains deep in thought—Raven hopes she’s giving Abby the freedom to say what she needs to, to feel anything she wants.  
   
"Yes, but she’s here. She came back." Raven says, biting her tongue, desperately wanting to add _of course she loves you and you broke her heart._  
   
“She hasn’t come back. Not yet. That was a seriously impossible set of coincidences back there. All I can say about it right now is she’s not dead.” Abby takes a deep breathe, “ _Panta Rhei_. All flows, Raven, nothing stays the same. Not my friendships, not my talent, not the lives I save or lose, not my genius at what I do, not who I sleep with, not the books and research I’ve written, not even my child and the man I loved. I’ve avoided that truth all my life, and I invited the most unimaginable pain into my life. Because I fucked up. I can’t keep anyone safe. I didn’t do it with Jake and I didn’t do it with Clarke. Everything I’ve done since Clarke ran away is this act of embracing pain, and what’s right in front of me, and avoiding that pain, or feeling anything, and then moving on to the next moment.”  
   
Raven brushes her mouth against the top of Abby’s head, kisses her, “And that’s all destroyed now. Because Clarke is here.”  
   
“Yes,” Abby says, “She’s not dead. She’s here. And now I feel everything.”  
   
“And I bet that’s the most you’ve ever said about it in years?” Raven asks.  
   
Abby laughs, “Don’t flatter yourself. There’s a lot Marcus, Sinclair and I talk about. Late nights in the lab and all that.”  
   
They sit quietly.  
   
Abby glances up at the ceiling and squints, “Are those—are those stars?”  
   
“Yep. I did it myself. Glow in the dark. I did it after my summer at NASA space camp. To remind me that I can fly. We did spacewalks and everything.”  
   
“Oh wow. You’re a nerd.”  
   
“I am. But Abby, the zero-g—it was incredible.”  
   
“It’s beautiful. I love them.”  
   
“Thank you. I put them in the right places, as best I could. The real thing is even more stunning.”  
   
Abby nudges Raven’s side with her foot. “Yes, I know. The real thing is always more beautiful.”  
   
“You’re going to hate me in the morning,“ Raven says, quite seriously, “That’s okay. But I’m glad you’re talking. I’m glad you have people.”  
   
“I will hate you. And I’m so enjoying this. We can go back to being awkward tomorrow. Really looking forward to that.”

* * *

She doesn’t know how long she’s felt like this, maybe forever, she can’t tell what’s going on and she doesn’t really care. Abby has never been kissed like this before. Raven is making love to her by hovering over her and placing her lips near her, barely on Abby’s mouth. And Raven’s body has begun to move, almost, against Abby, and when Raven runs her tongue around Abby’s, light, hardly there, Abby shivers.  
   
She actually might come from imagining what Raven’s doing to her.  
   
“Did we talk enough?” Abby breathes against Raven and moving her hips to get anything she can of Raven, more purchase, something, almost passing out when she feels Raven respond. Raven moans and pulls away. She drops her mouth to Abby’s jaw, “I’m sorry—“  
   
“If you apologize again, I'll leave.” Abby gasps, because this is such amazing torture, a _need_.  
   
Raven collapses in giggles, “You can’t leave. You haven’t slept. And I need to make you breakfast. Or lunch. Or something. What time is it? How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”  
   
“It’s getting light, probably close to 5. And the last time I had sex is none of your business.”  
   
“Oh no?” Raven smiles down at her. Abby’s stunned at how fast Raven can go from dork to hot, unfathomably desirable, or honest, open and kind, within moments.

It really doesn’t surprise Abby that she bursts into tears when Raven brings her hands up to frame her face.  
  
She hasn't been emotionally present or even available to herself or anyone since Jake died, and the things that Raven made her feel and confront after two carefully planned nights and one bizarre, black-out whatever— _marriage_ —and an even more unforeseeable, and drastic freeze-out—plus seeing Clarke tonight—has her closer to falling apart than she’s ever allowed herself. She could give a powerpoint with bulleted lists and subheadings and sidebars at the state of her life right now.

But she’s really falling apart here and might pass out. She sinks into the couch and cries.  
   
“Hey, Abby.” Raven soothes, “Abby, _okay, shh_ , look at me.”  
   
Raven somehow maneuvers them both around on the couch so that Abby is side by side with her leaning back against her chest, and Raven cradles her all the way through it, and she wraps Abby in her arms, curling herself around her, underneath the blankets and she rocks her like a child.

The light comes through the windows facing east, and the only thing Abby can hear as she calms herself, rocking gently against Raven, secure in her arms, is the beating of Raven’s heart and her voice, telling her she’s safe.  
   
“Abby. You still with me?”  
   
Abby nods, and shifts against Raven. Raven wipes tears off Abby’s cheek with the pads of her thumb, and Abby realizes that Raven’s eyes are also wet.

“You’re crying,” she murmurs, “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”  
  
Abby can feel Raven’s body tense briefly and then utterly relax. “Okay, you’re going to do something for me.”  
   
Abby, exhausted and pliant, feels wrung out. Raven crosses the room to stand against the far wall. Abby watches her as she pulls off the hoodie and undoes her hair. Raven’s back is a strong, lean beautiful contrasting plane of softness and muscle. She has an athlete’s body. She’d been naked underneath the sweatshirt. She turns around, carelessly dropping her clothing and watches Abby watch her.  
   
“Abby.” Raven says quietly, “Tell me what you want me to do.”  
   
Abby slowly sits up and sits back. She looks at Raven tentatively, too raw, very aware of the molecular level and deep intracellular resonance they set off in each other.  
   
“Babe.” Raven whispers, “Tell me what to do.”  
   
Raven sinks to her knees

Abby reaches out to her despite herself, wanting to stop whatever Raven’s doing, whatever she’s clearing away so definitively with a few well-placed words and the absolutely tempting offer of her body. Abby knows she's offering more than that. Abby raises her hand to stop the flood of it, how much like an animal she feels, how much she wants to claim the beautiful body, and soul, in front of her. Raven is on her knees in front of her, silent, watching her with interest and startlingly peaceful. Waiting.  
   
“Abby,” she hears from very far off, “Tell me."

 “Come…” and Abby’s voice shutters in her throat and she brings her hand up helplessly to her mouth to stop the tears from coming again.  
   
“Yes, baby, say it.” Raven’s voice is almost inaudible like a sound heard in a meadow at dawn when the world is waking up, and there's so much hope. “You can say it. I’ll do whatever you say.”  
   
Abby lowers her head and takes a deep, deep breath. When she looks up, Raven is still kneeling, still watching her calmly, untroubled, clear.  
   
“Raven,” and Raven shivers, just so, and she waits some more until Abby clears her throat, her voice stronger and more sure, “Raven, come over here. I need you.”  
   
“How, Abby?”  
   
And this time, when Abby answers, there’s no hesitation. No seduction. No pretense. It’s very simple.


	5. Chapter 5

Raven _almost_ makes it to the couch. She shifts and wobbles and kind of goes down in the goofiest way possible after snagging one of her fuzzy pink socks on a chair leg.

“Ow.” 

Abby bursts out laughing. Raven tries to get her hair out of her face and nothing’s really working.

“You’re doing wonders for my ego, here,” Raven says and sits up happily with a wide smile. “But that felt good right?”

“I’m not—yes. Yes.” Abby snorts, laughing and wrapping an arm around Raven’s waist and hauling her back up onto the couch with her.  “You’re gorgeous. Sorry. It sort of hurts, sometimes.”

“It is SO mutual.” Raven presses a deep kiss to Abby’s mouth. Normally Abby wouldn’t allow a deflection like that, her mother always told her that if someone gives you a compliment you say thank you.

“Thank you,” Abby says, for both of them.

Abby wraps Raven back up in the blanket, making sure to cover all of her and pulls her down on top of her. “You feel good.”

Abby is unexpectedly soft and wistful when Raven settles into her arms. Raven’s smile is full of a secret something, maybe approval, like Abby’s passed some sort of test and they can get on with just being together right now, without all the other concerns, without any awkwardness and uncalled for oceanic feelings and always constantly praying that reality will give them a break and stop hitting them in the face.

“Clarke will be fine.” Raven repeats. “She’s with two very good people that I trust with my life right now and you’re here with me. Relax. Do absolutely nothing and stop thinking about the people you can't save. Don't waste any more time on it. I bet you love a good cheeseburger and a milkshake. How long has it been since you've had one?”

Abby understands what she's doing and relaxes. Raven is quiet and comfortable, and somehow, Abby isn’t stupid enough to process what’s happening. She appreciates the silence and Raven’s supple, strong form pressing against every part of her. She runs her hand over Raven’s back; up to her neck, through her hair and Raven honest to god purrs. Abby just hums and nuzzles her neck.

Raven tugs at her, “Tell me.” 

“I used to write her letters. I can't write anymore. I have them all stashed somewhere. So I started talking to her, whispering in her ear like I did when she was a kid.”

“I never save anyone.” 

Abby lets a strand of Raven's hair fall through her fingers. 

“All the pain—with her, with Jake, and all the ways I see myself—” Abby continues. “I saw Clarke just now and I can put it down, maybe.”

Raven and Abby talk quietly for a long time, meander through a certain joy possible in life. It’s a nice thing to have for a few hours, together, without the hothouse anxiety that’s been riding their asses for weeks. Abby strokes her arms and plays with her fingers. She feels good, taken care of. Wanted.

“She’s not going anywhere, Abby. She came back, and she knew where you were the entire time.” 

That touches the fear lodged in her chest. A little later, Raven picks her head up and gives her another deliberate, measureless and grateful kiss, “You did

A little later, Raven picks her head up and gives her another deliberate, measureless and grateful kiss, “You did good with the relaxing stuff. Proud of you.”

* * *

Clarke wakes with Octavia’s hair in her mouth and wrapped in a blanket with the other girl sprawled around her, all over her, half on top of her. To her infinite relief, the room has stopped revolving because passing out peacefully had been a sketchy proposition and she’d grabbed Octavia’s hand before she lost all sense. Someone has placed a glass of water and four Advil near her on the coffee table and then she sees the small trash bin by the bed. If her head didn’t hurt so much she’d be mortified.

Abby. _Her mother_. She’s had a waking, infinitely wild dream she’s still not out of yet. It involves Raven and Lexa and her mother. Wonderful.

The light splashing through the loft is soft; it’s early morning, only a few hours after they crashed, and Clarke feels sandbagged. Her grogginess gives everything around her the quality of sharp edges and broken glass. She can hear hushed voiced; almost inaudible inside these odd twilit parameters. Lexa is talking to someone in the open kitchen, just at the other end of the space. She closes her eyes until she feels the couch dip next to her. 

“What did you dream?”

“I dreamed that last night never happened,” Clarke mumbles without opening her eyes. Then she laughs. “But yeah, it did happen. You witnessed me at my very best.” 

“Full sentences, though. That’s something.” 

“Is she alive?” Someone says absolutely too loudly.

“Shut up, Anya,” Lexa says, mildly.

Clarke cracks an eye open and sees the worst and most embarrassing thing she possibly can. Lexa hovers over her with the water and two pain tablets in her hand. She accepts both while avoiding Lexa’s gaze.

“Why aren’t you dead, too? I don't—” She asks. 

She feels rather than sees Lexa smile.

“What were you sad about in your dream?” Lexa’s hand touches her gently on the cheek and wipes away tears at the edge of her eyes. She doesn’t flinch away, she’s too tired. But she’s startled she’s crying. She must have an expression on her face that makes Lexa look away, thoughtfully giving her as much privacy as this very public situation allows. 

“I’ll tell you if you move Octavia off of me,” Clarke mutters.

“No. m‘comfy. Shhh” Octavia says, still asleep.

“That’s impressive.”

“Anya. Quiet.” Lexa says, softer now, so Clarke doesn’t go into shock.

“More water?” Clarke asks.

Lexa hands her the glass, “Sip it slowly. I’ve put some lemon, mint, and ginger in there. It’ll settle your stomach.” A lovely smell of toast, butter, and some jam reaches Clarke and she opens her eyes. Taking the offered plate, she bites into the food and stifles a moan of pleasure. Lexa watches in amusement. Clarke doesn’t even mind her closeness; she looks up at Lexa and the other woman—a strikingly attractive woman—how is it possible to look like that this early—and Anya, she thinks that’s her name, stares back down at her.

“She’s adorable, Lexa. I want one.”

Lexa laughs, a melodic and unsurprisingly beautiful sound, also very lucid and put together for this early in the morning. Clarke really hopes she hasn’t drooled. She is also reluctant to shut her eyes again, afraid Lexa will vanish when she does, off to some unknown strange new place—her attention and care gone, invisible and unreachable.

Clarke lays her head against Lexa’s forearm without really thinking about it and munches on the life-giving toast, the butter and jam are perfect for every hungry and emotional ache she has. The morning wind stirs through the trees just beyond the window and they sit quietly, listening. Anya goes back to puttering around the kitchen, waiting for Clarke to be able to stomach some strong espresso.

Eventually, Lexa extricates herself without waking Octavia, and gets up, feeling a little nonplussed at her own wish to stay there all day if Clarke needed or asked her to. Clarke dozes and Lexa takes the empty plate from her hands. Clarke's beautiful and strong; her face very young and untroubled in sleep. She glows in the streaks of sunlight in a way that tugs at Lexa’s senses.

Anya starts singing softly and Lexa feels the expansiveness of the day opening up in front of her. Only Raven and Anya can give her those kinds of days, the ones that carry the promise of evening walks, along trails deep in the woods, the earth smelling cool and damp after a light rain. The look Anya gives her reflects what’s in her own eyes; and between them, the shape of possible futures form out of the fog, like those street lamps in a giant Edwardian night.

The tide of the realm of dreams Clarke inhabits is legible and wild—within Lexa’s reach somehow—and steals into the fortress of her heart and higher and higher into the reality of her life. It’s fire where there should be calm and if Lexa were anyone else she’d kick Anya’s ass for even suggesting what she already knows is happening. Even the signature Anya eyebrow raise might warrant a cup of coffee dumped on her very expensive shirt because it's too soon and too scary.

Clarke Griffin is becoming a problem. A beautiful one. _I feel hungry when I look at you. I want to tear you up._

* * *

Diffuse sunlight penetrates the high clouds and sweeps across the sidewalk as Abby and Raven stroll through the Saturday crowds. The coffee is strong and the company is perfect. It feels good to be with Raven. Abby tries not to feel anything except this moment, this thing between them.

The drug is out of her system; the breakfast she’d whipped up for them was eaten in silence with occasional touches and glances. They both seem shy, tentative. They shared a crossword puzzle.

Abby wishes for the moonlight again, the light that shone on Raven’s face as she dozed and told stories against Abby’s chest—about stars and space stations and reading under her blanket with a flashlight sometimes when she stays late at the lab. It didn’t matter what they talked about, as long as they were touching. Abby hasn’t felt that cared for. Ever. 

The sun has the bright, sharp contrasts of high autumn, with some heat to it; and it’s just a lovely late morning in a lovely place with a lovely girl on her arm. A dog chases a ball, the glittering rays off the river shimmer and sparkle in their eyes so they have to shade them with their hands and look for their sunglasses, and there's a pause like the stillness between inhales and exhales, a silence between words and declarations and decisions—and Abby thinks again of the moonlight and how utterly imaginary everything is except for Raven right now. And Clarke.

Raven must feel her falter because she takes her hand and says, “I can walk you back to Lexa’s. Clarke’s there.”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

“You could talk to her. You don’t have her phone number, do you?”

“No.” 

Raven’s eyes widen slightly as she sees panic wash over Abby’s face. Raven tucks Abby’s hand under her arm and turns her around in the direction they came from. Raven pulls at her long coat, raises the collar and tugs down her beanie. “If she’s not there I have her number, so you can get it that way, too. Okay?”

Abby just nods, trying to get herself under control.

“Okay, this is serious business. You ready?” Raven stage whispers.

Abby’s weak smile doesn’t reach her eyes and she shrugs. “Nothing more serious in the world. It’s just my kid, you know?” 

Raven gives her a look that holds the smoke of stars and Abby loses her breath again.

* * *

They meet Anya and Lexa coming out of the loft building and Lexa fishes around in her pocket, tossing Raven a set of keys.

“Give those to Clarke. Octavia has a set, _obviously_ , but now that Clarke will be a fixture… well.”

Raven holds up the keys and nods. “Where are you off to?”

Lexa sighs, “Oh, some fucking thing.”

“Interview.” Anya says.

“Right. Interview.” Lexa looks less than thrilled. She turns to Abby. “She’s been fed and she slept a good few hours. We moved the both of them to my bed, so if they’re not up and you don’t see them in the common space that’s where they are. Help yourself to anything you like. I’m gone all day until late. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

Raven makes a decision and holds Lexa’s wrist to stop her. She turns to Abby, “I’ll leave you to it. Octavia is going to be ridiculous and protective. I’m sure you can handle her, but just try to understand where she’s coming from. She’s only heard Clarke’s side of the story, okay? Just ask her to leave and—“

“Raven.” Abby touches her cheek without thinking, and Raven blinks at the gesture. “I can handle myself. I’m a doctor. If I hurt Octavia I know how to fix her.”

Anya snorts, delighted. “I like her, Raven. A lot. You leveling up?”

“Fuck off, Anya,” Raven says without looking around, almost tenderly; and neither Lexa nor Anya miss the blush dusting Raven’s neck.

Lexa puts her hand against Raven's lower back and leads her away, and as they turn the corner, the music in Raven’s head dissolves to static. The three of them walk in silence for a good while, Lexa stealing sips of Raven’s latte and Raven just wants Lexa to make her a cup of tea like she used to when things got jumbled and confused and hurt. Because this thing with Abby hurts and she’s not sure she can do without her.

She had loved her life before. Part of the time she could be a no-name, no address, no age, nothing checked off except the vast list of demands and preferences and kinks she could provide and then walk away from.

She could stagger into Lexa’s loft, whether she was there or not, covered in glitter and carrying half a cold, stiff pizza, which she either devoured alone or shared with Anya and Lexa if they were there and then they would listen to music, talk and pass out at dawn. She liked it. It was simple.

* * *

Clarke stands in the open kitchen staring at her when she walks in. Abby’s sure that Clarke knew she was coming somehow, because there’s no ripple in her demeanor except for a telltale twitch of her mouth, something she got from Jake, along with his eyes and coloring. Jake's face was an open book. His daughter isn't that different, but Jake had no rage in him, no betrayal, and no fierce disgust.

“Mom.”

Ten minutes later, that's all either of them have said. They haven't touched. They’re settled at the kitchen counter, spreading butter onto more slices of toasted bread.

“Remember the farmhouse?” Abby asks, more to herself than Clarke. Or like she's picking up a conversation that's been going on for years. “We bought it because I could see wild fields through the windows. No buildings. No hospitals. No people. And your dad loved it because there was an older structure in the back where he set up his workspace and built his schematics and models to scale. There was no one like him when he was at work like that. The place has no roads. Just corn-stalks, cows, tomatoes and wild grass. Just you, him and me. He was in heaven.”

Clark says nothing but she slides the plate of toast across to Abby after taking one for herself. She’s found some wonderful clotted cream and she adds that to hers and then to Abby’s.

“Your dad didn’t have many friends. He had Jaha, Kane. He had you and me. The rest of them? The ones he worked with—they weren’t as intelligent as he was and he had to take care of a lot more than he was being paid for. He didn’t like them—called them “The Council”, and they built everything by committee. But he loved us. He loved you. You and he would build anything you could think of when you were together. You’d just sketch it out and together, you'd make it work.”

Clarke puts down her toast after a few bites and sits, mesmerized by the counter-top, flushing with anger and memories. Abby watches her, sees her sadness, knows there's nothing she can do about it and continues.

“He died on my table.” When Clarke flinches Abby says, “I killed my best friend, the person I loved most in the world. Because I couldn’t do anything else for him. He came flatlining, unrecognizable. I was the only trauma surgeon on duty. Marcus was asleep after a 36-hour shift. There was no one else but me.”

The silence is unbearable.

“I haven’t been able to dream in years.” Abby says. “Each time I see his eyes, and I wonder where I was, how deep I was in the adrenaline and out on the edge—surgeons are arrogant bastards—I couldn’t recognize his eyes out of all the things I should have known about him. It doesn’t make sense to me. I cut into him. I was closer to him than anyone has ever been close to anyone. I was inside him, deeper than a lover. he was my husband and best friend. And I didn’t recognize his eyes.”

Light falls through the rippled glass of the old factory windows. The air smells sweet and strangely primitive, Clarke feels the industrial machinery of decades past that used to fill this space. But for both of them, they are back at the farmhouse. Outside is nothing but the sound of wind and animals and the pond below the old oak trees. Clarke knows that this is a lot easier to take where she is, half hidden behind the counter, between her mother and the sink, scattered papers and scripts and invites between them. Abby is noticing it all, as well.

“What does Lexa do?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea, really. We just met a couple of days ago.”

“Here.” Abby reaches out and hands Clarke the set of keys. “She wanted you to have these.”

Clarke takes them without a word. Abby sighs and gets up to leave, grabbing a pen and piece of paper from her bag. “My number.”

She’s halfway to the door when Clarke finally says something. “Mom.”

Abby turns slowly and waits.

“Mom.” Clarke says again, her voice trembling. “I only remember his eyes because I have them. I have his eyes. But I’ve dreamt of yours. I only dream of yours.”

Abby stands frozen, not daring to move or breath. She just waits, stunned.

“Okay?” Clarke says. She steps around the counter. She looks older, tired. Fragile. Abby supposes she doesn’t look any better. Clarke’s extraordinary blue eyes, darker than Jake’s, stormy and frightening, settle on her mother. “Those plans we made, me and Dad. Do you think they mattered?”

Abby nods.

“Why?”

Abby isn’t afraid to look back. Clarke wants an answer. Instead of running, and disappearing, she wants an answer.

“Because his death ended my life." Abby says, "Don’t waste your time dying like I did. I want you to live.”


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke wakes up again at three in the afternoon. She'd gone back to bed. Octavia is snoring quietly, her cheek cradled in her hand. Clarke remembers being tucked in, how she’d protested mildly and how Abby had done it anyway. Abby and Clarke said as much as they could. It was a good talk, it was a start, and they weren’t going to get any further than that in an hour. Not after years of avoidance and anger. Years of disappearing from each other.

Finally, Clarke’s eyes faded and she barely managed to keep her head up, her words running together. And Abby took her by the arm and did the first motherly thing Clarke allows her to do in years. It’s one, simple thing. And now Clarke is wide awake and can’t get it out of her head. It’s haunting needing someone so badly, needing someone’s touch like air. Abby doesn’t have to say anything to her. She knows. She leaves it alone. She doesn’t push.

Abby writes a note and lets herself out.

* * *

“Does it bother you?” Anya takes a slow drink of her tea without looking over and twirls the cup in her hands, her feet up on the edge of the couch. 

“What?” Raven settles down next to her in the small green room. A few production assistants keep popping in, asking the same questions constantly—if they need anything, do they want water, tea or coffee. Raven finally gives in and asks for a pastrami Reuben, which stumps everyone (the reactions are completely worth it), since the nearest deli only does vegan wraps and very complicated bone broth smoothies and kale whatever, and the studio cafeteria certainly doesn’t have cheese. The PA's sail out of the room rather quickly, and they are alone.

“Does it bother you that other people find her beautiful, think they know her, love her body, her eyes, her hair, freak out about anything she says, does, thinks?” 

“No.” Raven laughs. “She’s mine and she’s yours. We had her first.”

Anya breathes out a laugh and puts the cup down. “It bothers the fuck out of me.”

“You’re her manager, Anya. You’re both kicking ass. And you know it’s all bullshit except for the work. She’s doing what she loves. So are you. She’s wanted this since we were kids. Good for her.”

“I hate it. They think they can have her. She’s really genuine and funny and sweet to everyone and I just imagine her in my bed, her breast between my teeth, she’s kissing me with every nuance possible and I can’t catch my breath." 

Raven whips her head around like a cartoon character; aware that anyone could come in or there might be more assistants in the closets, or worse they’re on some sound and hidden video set-up only the audience at home is privy to. “Anya, what the hell?”

“That’s what gets me through all the public bullshit. The back of her neck in the palm of my hand, my tongue—”

“ _Anya_.”

“Oh, relax, genius. You’re wound up like, I don’t even know.” Anya says, with a hilarious look that just says  _lady, please_ , before shaking her head. “You're not even paying me any mind. Is it that alarmingly gorgeous woman you’re seeing, isn't it. What’s her name? Abby, right?”

“You know her name. We’re not  _seeing_  each other. I work with her. She’s my boss.” Raven says.

“Mmhm. Okay, you’re just fucking. So it’ll be cool if I ask her—” 

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“You’re no fun.” 

“I am fun.”

“I know you are.” 

Raven rolls her eyes. “Don’t you need to make some calls?”

“Nope. I’m talking to you right now. You have my full attention. Rare, I know. Lexa’s told me nothing.” Anya makes a sad face and thankfully, shuts up. Raven realizes she’s legitimately hurt in some obscure way only Anya can be.

Raven runs her hands through her hair and rolls her neck. “Why are we here? She’s going to be another 45 minutes at least. Let’s go for a walk.”

“I’m allergic to weather and sunlight. There’s a cell phone blackout zone in this building. No one can reach me. It’s heaven.” There is no cell phone blackout in this monolith.

“Anya, I need a divorce.” And then she cringes.

Anya stares into space for a moment and then sighs deeply. "Okay. Well. I just asked if you were sleeping with her. I don't know where the fuck to start with that other thing."

Raven curls up into her and remains silent.

“She was a client, wasn’t she?”

Still no response.

“It happened in Vegas. You’re a fucking trainwreck, I swear to god. What is wrong with you? You didn’t Google “out of state divorce”, did you?” 

Nothing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Anya begins to type furiously on her handheld and then scrolls through a bit, “$199, prices vary.”

“That’s it? We don’t have to establish residency in Nevada?” 

“No, you don’t. What the hell did you read on the Internet? You’re an idiot.” Anya leans back. “You married a client? Abby was a  _client,_  you got married and now she’s your boss? What is happening? Oh my God.”

“It was a really beautiful, life-changing night.”

“I’m sure it was,” Anya says, neutrally.

They have almost an hour left to wait. It’s incredibly awkward.

* * *

“You’re  _what?_ ”

Anya says nothing and just points at Lexa and nods approvingly. They’ve managed to scare another production assistant away. The poor girl turns and runs when she gets a good look at Lexa’s face as Lexa yells at Raven. Anya grabs them both and hauls them out into the hallway, into the elevator, and herds them back into the Escalade. “Before there’s bloodshed.” She mutters and then starts driving aimlessly while Lexa continues to have the most polite meltdown anyone’s ever experienced. It’s extremely low-key and scary.  
  
Raven demands they stop for more coffee and then they should maybe drive out of the city and to the beach and just deal with this, where no one can ever find them again. This seems like a perfectly acceptable plan to Lexa—who looks murderous and plans to drown Raven in a peaceful, undisclosed location.

Raven, while ordering, keeps looking nervously over her shoulder and places Anya in between her and the view outside to the car where Lexa sits staring out into space talking to herself.

“What did she want? I forget and I’m not asking her again.”

“Venti, half-whole milk, one-quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots (1 and a half shots decaf, 2 and a half shots regular), no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of Splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon.” Anya doesn’t look up from her phone. "I mean Stevia. My bad."

The barista blinks, “What’s Stevia?”

Anya repeats the order for her. “You  _do_  have Stevia, honey. It’s in the back. Would you like me to ask the manager for you?”

They wait for their orders. Raven ordered a Mocha. A really simple one. No, she does not want to try the Pumpkin Spice bullshit order du jour. She just wants whipped cream and chocolate and coffee.

“What the fuck did  _you_ get?” Raven snarls. “Fat-Free Iced Caramel Macchiato, Upside Down, Extra Caramel. What is with all these orders? I swear to god, you and Abby and—First, just because it's fat-free—ugh—upside down? Is this the Vale of Shadows? Can I have an eggo with that? No? Then stir it yourself.”

“Raven?” Anya asks.“Do you like this woman?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, stupidly.  “Yes. I really do.”

* * *

Lexa turns on her once they’re back in the car. Raven has been banished to the back seat.

 _“Married,”_  Lexa says, cursing majestically. Anya looks impressed. “ _Sweet Jesus_ , when were you going to tell me? Before or after we slept together?” 

“I told you I liked her,” Raven says really quietly. “We always sleep together, Lex.” 

“She’s Clarke’s  _mother._ ”

“Wait.” Raven stares at her. “ _That’s_  your issue?”

“Okay. Point, Reyes.” Anya nods. “Lexa, that’s not really the—“

Lexa continues to curse at both of them rapidly before taking a sip of her drink; “You put three Stevias in this.”

“Um, no. Anya did.” Raven says.

“Why are we going to the shore when it’s only 60 degrees—“

“Anya. Just drive. You look perf in ecru. Very seasonal.”

“Oh. Thanks, girl.”

Lexa’s face relaxes a little, “I know I have my moments of insanity but I have never  _married_ someone after—”

“Honey, you have a somewhat complicated relationship with your two life-long friends. Not sure you really have any standing here.” Anya drawls without looking over. “You pay me a lot of money to keep this… us… out of the press.”

Lexa glares at her and Anya shrugs. “Where’s the lie? You’re an out, bisexual actor. No one has to know how you  _really_  like it in the sack.”

Lexa has the grace to turn beet red at that.

“I just—” Raven says. Part of her is trying to figure out just  _how_  to get out of the car without dying of any more embarrassment than she already is, and the rest of her is trying to make this all less absurd, even to her. “There’s something about her.”

“Is there any particular reason you’re staying in a FAKE MARRIAGE?” Anya actually asks a sensible question.

Raven says a little uncertainly, “No, of course not. We thought we needed to establish residency in Las Vegas. We were coming down off hallucinogens when we looked into it.”

“So?” Lexa asks. “Now you know. Spend the money. Problem solved. Why are you still an escort? I could—“

“Lexa. Don’t. We’ve been over this. And since when have you had a problem with the way I’ve paid off my loans?”

Lexa’s quiet for a few minutes, and then says softly. “Since forever.”

“What? Really? You never said.” Raven says, shocked into almost breathless confusion.

“None of my business.” Lexa looks down at her lap. “I hate it, Raven. I hate that all those people—“

“Ok, wow.” Raven whistles. “That is so not where I thought this conversation was headed. How long have you two been feeling this way?”

“Day one.” Anya says.

“And you’re just telling me this now.”

“You wouldn’t accept any help, babe. Ever. Both of us tried and you shot us down.” Anya explains, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. “You’re stubborn as hell, and you have a chip on your shoulder. A really hot, sexy one, but it’s there. And we’re saying it now. No, we don’t like it. Neither of us does.”

“My life is private. Even from you two.” Raven says, furious. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve told the service I’m not available anymore, although I enjoyed it. I  _never_ compromised either of you and I’m exactly where I want to be financially and professionally.”

“Nothing’s private.” Anya changes lanes towards the Outer Shore exits. “I know this. You know this. If you and Abby don’t want your asses dragged at some point, you either need to actually commit to this sacred union between man and woman or get the fuck out as fast as you can. I’m serious. If anyone does any searching arou—“

“Anya, the agency is airtight. You know what level of clearance my clients were on. No one is going to find out. And if they do, literally half of our current standing government, entertainment and tech industries here and abroad will go into a spin crisis or worse. Because I’m fucking fancy. I’m not worried.”

“I’m not talking about escorting, Raven. I’m talking about  _your marriage_. It’s public record. How do you not get this? Clarke can look it up while she’s on Amazon shopping for, I don’t know, cat food.”

“Clarke seems like a dog person.” Lexa shakes her head emphatically, sipping her drink, and Anya nearly off-roads them laughing, and Raven spits half her drink until Anya finally pulls off into the lot adjacent to the beach, next to a food truck, which Lexa practically squeals at.

“Raven, you’re dumb.” Lexa laughs. “Just get the divorce. No harm, no foul. Unless Abby, I don’t know, needs to be contractually obligated in some way in order to inherit a fortune, this is utter bullshit. As if Clarke and Abby don’t have enough to deal with. And Abby won’t be lying to Clarke. And you and Abby can figure your shit out.”

Raven decides that now is not a good time to mention they're married under false names.

Anya looks between them. "So, you’re both breaking up with me?"

“Ugh, no. Never. Someone get me tacos.” Lexa says.

* * *

Raven shoves the daily incomprehensible coffee drink towards Abby, across the nurse’s station, where she’s doing some busy work.  

“Ooh. What did you get me today?” Abby asks, before taking a sip and groaning with pleasure. Raven feels her face heating up. No one should sound that good drinking coffee. “Did you get that cute seasonal pumpkin scone they have?”

Raven rounds the desk and drops into the chair next to her, and hands her the pumpkin scone, and then digs into the bag again. “I got a lemon cake, too. Want some of that?” 

Abby nods happily from around a mouthful of pumpkin scone and a sip of coffee. Raven drops a pile of documents in front of her along with napkins and stir sticks, “We’re divorcing. Surprise.”

Abby signs off on another chart before looking at her again, and her face slowly relaxes into a smile. “I was wondering when someone would clue you in.”

“Yeah,” Raven sighs. “Anya and WikiHow explained it to me in like, 5 seconds.”

“I get the good china,” Abby says, leaning back in her chair, twirling her pen absently.  

“You can have the kids too, because, Jesus. Teenagers.” Raven says, and then, “Wait. You knew?”

Abby nods. “I wasn’t thinking clearly for a long time. I don’t know what we were doing, actually. I think we were in shock. Or why—“ She puts down the pen. Her expression becomes very serious as she watches Raven. “Seeing Clarke… well.”

Raven quells a really surprising wave of hurt, very fast, and schools her face into mild interest, and tries not to wince. “Right. How’d it go?” She asks.

“Not sure yet.”

“Is she still upset with you?  You two looked pretty shocked and overwhelmed but… Abby, you both looked good the other night. Like it was a positive thing.”

“I’m… hopeful.”

“Anyways,” Raven says, clearing her throat. ”You guys don’t need to talk about your new wife, like, ever. Or how we met. Obviously.”

“Right. How long have you and Clarke known each other?” Abby goes back to her charts. Raven can’t shake the clinical, amused nonchalance Abby is projecting. It’s off. This should be more of a thing. This is a divorce, after all. Kind of important in the scheme of things.

“Not long, and barely. I met her through friends. I like her.” Raven grits her teeth.  ”Let’s just do this. She’ll never know. And our team won’t know. And everything will be fine. And we can go back to our normal lives.”

“Mm. Whatever that was.” Abby just nods, pulling her phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her contacts.  

”Abby, can we do this today? Yes or no?” Abby’s unwillingness to act immediately on the matter at hand is decidedly weird, is becoming annoying, and the stab of hurt blossoms into something else she doesn’t want to deal with. “Who are you texting? Marcus?”

Abby looks up at that, and narrows her eyes, “Relax, Raven. I’m seeing if the notary public is here today. We can get this done in ten minutes. Less than that, if you want to. What’s got you all upset?”

“What’s got you all, _‘fuck if I care’_?”

Abby looks around, “Lower your voice. What’s wrong with you?”

Raven glares at the nurses, who are actually paying absolutely no attention to them whatsoever.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she mumbles because honestly, Abby has no right to ask her that. This was a series of events that neither of them could have predicted. Neither of them wants this. Clarke is just one more component in a growing amount of convoluted circumstances and coincidences. She’s done with it. “It’s fine. This was a pain in the ass, anyway; it was going to fuck up my taxes this year. Just sign that as soon as you can and we can get on with rounds.”

Abby doesn’t give her a second glance. She’s done, too. “I’m sure Anya will be very happy.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“She’s a little proprietary with you, isn’t she?” Abby punches in a call on her phone and gets an answer right away. She chats briefly and then swipes off. She stands up abruptly and starts to stride down the hall, throwing her perfectly good scone into the trash for no other reason than dramatic effect. “You didn’t tell me you were involved with someone.”

Raven looks after her, too stunned to move. When did this get really bitchy? She blinks incredulously at Abby’s retreating back and finally vaults out of her chair, angry as hell. First Lexa, and now this. Absolutely fucking ridiculous, everyone is losing their mind.

Raven catches up to Abby easily, “I’m not. Involved with anyone. Not really. It’s complicated. Did Clarke tell you—?”

“Did Clarke  _tell me what_?” Abby almost sprays her coffee.

“Oh. OH. No, I didn’t mean— No that sounded really bad. Clarke and I have never—you know. Whatever.“ Raven finishes out that mess of a response weakly.

You’re still taking clients, then?”

Raven sees red. Like, truly sees stars, she’s so angry. She swings around on Abby and crowds into her space. Abby doesn’t move and they’re breathing each other’s air. “What if I was?”

Abby’s face goes white. Whether from shock or anger, Raven doesn’t know. Either way, it’s scary.

“What even  _is_  this conversation?” Abby hisses. When Raven doesn’t respond in time she waves her off. “Are we doing this now or what?”

Raven breathes out through her nose and gets herself under control. They are now in God knows what territory. She steps back and gestures for Abby to lead the way. “You established residency here how long ago?”

“Long enough.”

* * *

Clarke is gone when Lexa gets back to the loft. Octavia isn’t and is sitting on the couch nursing a glass of wine and text-fighting with Bellamy. 

“You should friend her on Facebook,” Octavia says, apropos of absolutely nothing after the two of them have sprawled together, not talking, and without moving for the better part of an hour. Lexa doesn’t bother pretending she doesn’t know who Octavia’s talking about. 

Clarke makes her wait what feels like the rest of the night,  _an eternity_ , before accepting her friend request and that’s only after Lexa realizes that she’s done it from her personal account and so her alias probably confused Clarke and she can’t believe how stupid she is for doing that but she doesn’t have an account under her real name just an official page and that would be all sorts of obnoxious. 

“Yeah, she has no idea who you are,” Octavia says, helpfully. “She’s been living off the grid for a while.”

“In the woods? That’s charming.” Lexa says.

Octavia just straight up laughs at her. “You are in so much trouble.” 

Lexa spends the  _next_  hour trying to come up with a “hey, what’s up” message that isn’t just  _oh my God go out with me._ Octavia stays quiet while Lexa stares into space, concentrating on getting just the right tone of laissez-faire and  _I’m a totally serious person, marry me_. 

Until Octavia heaves a sigh and asks, “Do you want me to cook something?” 

“What are you still doing here?” 

“How does ordering pizza sound?”

“Really good, actually.”

“K. Let me call Lincoln. He likes pizza.”

“He likes you.”

“Yes, he does.”

“What’s it feel like to be stupidly in love?”

Octavia smiles so big the room actually expands. “Oh, Lex. I think you know. And you have like,  _three_  of them now!”

“Shut up, Octavia.”

“What?”

* * *

"What do you want, Abby. I’m seeing you tomorrow at work.” Raven leans against the door, the main vibe is that Abby isn’t getting anywhere past it.

“I’m sorry.”

Raven stays silent.

"I wanted to talk," Abby says, sort of helplessly. “Today spiraled into something it didn’t have to be. I was… angry. This hurts.”

"You just walked me home from the hospital. After I said I wanted to be alone. You could have said something before we got here." Raven says. “I’m tired. And yeah, today was horrible.”

"I want to make sure you’re okay," Abby says. "It’s harder for me to live like we were. It was a joke."

Raven just raises an eyebrow and says nothing for a few moments. Abby can practically feel her vibrating with fury. Raven's blank expression doesn’t alter or give anything away, but her body is rigid. Not frightened, or upset or sad, but furious. “A joke.” Raven finally repeats, flatly.

“A joke.” Raven finally repeats, flatly.

"Yes," Abby says. There’s no point in saying otherwise. This isn’t going to happen in anybody’s idea of the world. Clarke is too important. The work Raven and the others, all of them, are doing is too important. A sham marriage is not what their lives are about, no matter what she’s feeling for this beautiful girl. She doesn’t want to think about it. She just doesn’t want to be in pain, or lonely any more than she already is. Raven doesn’t make her feel alone and nothing's making sense.

"And you’re hurting," Raven says, without any real rancor. Disinterested. Cold. “And you want to talk it through, and process because that's what you're supposed to do when you get divorced when you weren't together in the first place. And you  _also_ want to make sure I’m not seeing anyone else, and I won’t see anyone else. And I’m not hooking, and I’ll be okay and my heart isn’t breaking. You think I’m hurting? This isn’t hurt.”

Abby sees the bleakness, the weary resignation in Raven's eyes. It’s there and gone, but she sees it.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you?" Abby murmurs, stepping into Raven's personal space, and that is so not okay anymore that Raven wonders where the deflection could possibly go. Work colleagues don’t need to know anything about each other. “Will you tell me why you can only stand to be in the ER unless you’ve taken a few Xanax? It’s not like I haven’t seen—“

“You _know_  my rates, Abby.” Raven pushes off the door and away from her. “You’ll have to book a few hours with us together, maybe with some of my friends so you can see how I really am when I’m not working, with specific instructions, maybe a praise kink or two? That’ll get it out of me.” 

Abby doesn’t respond for a long time, and Raven almost dies inside every second the silence lengthens between them.

Finally, she lets out a breath, “It’s late. We’re both tired. Let it go. We made a mistake a few months ago. We’re making it right. This doesn’t mean anything to either of us. You’re an extremely intelligent woman. Just make it up as you go along. I’ll agree to anything you want to tell me about what happened between us.”

* * *

It’s only after the walk down the stairs, out to the street, only after the cab ride home that Abby feels herself collapse. She feels herself almost go down, and there’s no one to hold her. There’s no one wrapped around her on a cold, autumn night. There’s no drama, or excitement, or something to look forward to. There’s no sparkling, amused and interested eyes gazing at her, waiting for her to ask for what she really, deep down, needs and wants. There’s no one she’s humming to, no one to sing nonsense to and talk about anything with. There are her notes and research spread out on the dining table, next to a half-finished cup of coffee and a pair of reading glasses. There’s her work. There’s a woman she works with who she doesn’t know at all. She could call Marcus. She could call Sinclair. She has Clarke.

She has Clarke.

Abby feels her legs give way, and in her empty, quiet apartment, she sinks to her knees in relief, and buries her face in her hands and just collapses in her entrance way for what feels like forever. She doesn’t wipe the tears streaming down her face. Because she's alone again, and she didn’t realize, not really, that she had been with someone until today. Until just now. And for an extremely intelligent, beautiful person that’s the only story she knows how to tell herself. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Raven was a dream; she was impossible from the very beginning. She paid for a dream.


	7. Chapter 7

They work with each other like what happened two weeks ago means nothing. Raven feels all her hairs stand on end anytime she's even near Abby, so she stays home for a few days, skyping in now and again to talk to Sinclair or draft up a sketch after conferring with Marcus on protocol. Abby, when she notices the way Raven is staring at her during the weekly team face-to-face, just smiles at her gently and falls apart in the nearest stairwell later.

"You okay?" Abby finally asks at the end of a meeting, in a kind, low voice; and it melts Raven’s regret and anxiety immediately.   
  
The words  _I have to be_ are what gets Raven through a day now.

* * *

Raven finds Abby already with a patient, a child of four. She looks up briefly with a subtle lift of an eyebrow. It's the only sign Abby’s at all surprised Raven even keeps showing up. 

There's a woman holding another baby seated near the door, and Raven assumes she’s the mother. The woman takes a huge breath and lets it out in a gasp, her eyes roll involuntarily and won’t focus, and minute tremors wrack her body. It takes a huge amount of self-control for Raven not to yank the infant out the mother’s arms, purely on instinct. 

Her hair is bleached and limp, her eyes and pupils blown. A nurse slides the curtain aside and starts a routine blood take. Her leg bounces wildly, and she folds her arms around herself. Raven’s stomach plummets.

Abby watches the woman for a moment. "Ms. Coleman. He'll be fine." She places a hand on Raven’s arm as she does so. Raven feels really fucking off suddenly, upset and slightly nauseated and Abby, Raven’s pretty sure, is hyper-aware of everyone’s emotional state in the room. Ms. Coleman sniffs and wipes at her nose, and nods vaguely. Raven takes a subtle glance through the child’s chart and then places it back at the end of the bed. 

"Ms. Coleman, why don’t you come with me, all right?" the nurse says, a little too brightly. “I’ll get you set up with some juice and food and you can relax. Dr. Griffin will be just a moment.”

The small boy is in a fretful, whimpering state of exhaustion. He sprawls on his back, one foot twisted in the sheets and the other one dangling off the bed. Raven moves to take off his untied sneaker while Abby nods her thanks at the nurse and then readjusts the curtain behind them as they leave. The kid looks miserable.

Streaks of tears run down from the corners of his eyes and damp hair sticks to his forehead and temples, he gazes back and forth between Abby and Raven, frightened. 

Abby smiles softly and murmurs, “Hey, Aden. Hi, kiddo. I’m sorry you don’t feel good. And I’m sorry the only time we get to see each other is when you come in here.”

She strokes the wet hair back from his face and his bright, feverish eyes close for a second, he sighs. 

"I know what this is.” Raven says from behind Abby.

Abby nods, and murmurs, “I imagine you do. This is the second time in a week.”

“I haven’t seen this. I never met Aden. Why hasn’t CPS been—“

“Shh.” Abby’s quieting both of them. Aden seems in better shape than Raven. “Raven, honey. They’ve been called. Red tape is red tape. Let me handle this, okay? Aden, I’m going to just check a few things." Abby slows her movements and lowers her voice in a subliminal signal for both Raven and Aden to calm down. All of her becomes gentle and steady.

"Your mom is just outside, Aden. This will only take a minute. I'll look at some things and see what's wrong, okay?"

Aden turns to her and his eyes widen in the best "what the fuck" look Raven has ever seen. Even Anya isn’t as good as this guy. 

Abby smiles, “I know. It’ll be quick. My friend here will hold your hand, would you like that? Her name is Raven.”

Raven holds out her hand without thinking, and Aden takes it, now completely focused on Raven. “Like the bird?”

“Yes. Like the bird. Some people call me ‘Little Bird’.”

“No. Raven s’better.”

Raven smiles for the first time since coming in, “I hate it too. I don’t much like the people who call me that name, either.”

“Sorry”

“It’s okay. Do you like your name?”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“I don't know.”

Raven swallows hard and doesn’t look away. Aden isn’t thrashing around more or exhibiting extreme irritability. His feet feel cold and his skin looks sallow under the fluorescent lights and Raven covers his hand with her hands and runs her thumb gently across his palm over and over as Abby gives him a standard examination—taking his blood pressure, temperature, his pulse; she checks his mouth and tongue, his eyes. Raven watches the eye exam and almost throws up. His pupils are as black as night and eclipse everything else.

Aden smiles weakly at Raven the whole time and Raven talks his ear off. He nods and grunts and smiles, interested and still a little sniffly. His breathing isn’t steady, but it’s better than it was.

Abby slings the stethoscope around the back of her neck. "Okay, sweetheart. Let me see those beautiful blue eyes again."

Aden squints at her as if he just remembers she’s in the room with them. "Ask Raven if I can. How do you know my eyes are beautiful?”

"I like your eyes, Aden and you’re right, I should ask. Raven, can Aden let me see his eyes again?"

“What do you think, Aden? Should I show her my eyes first?”

Aden nods seriously, “Yes.” He watches, fascinated, as Abby checks Raven’s eyes with the ophthalmoscope.

“You want to see it?” Abby hands the instrument to him. Raven bends down and Aden giggles as he shines the light in her eyes. Raven laughs too until she feels a little blinded and can’t see anymore. She blinks comically and Aden dissolves into a huge smile.

“Now it’s your turn, little dude.”

Aden nods his permission "How come you want to see them ‘gen?" he mumbles, tired out.

“Because you have beautiful eyes. I want to see them as much as I can before you get tired and go to sleep." Abby says.

"k.” Aden hums. He almost purrs when Raven strokes his hair and neck and he pokes his chest out, his little body following Abby’s hands and touch. Raven is heartbroken. This kid is touch-starved. 

Abby tilts the boy’s head back more and checks his ears, nose, and throat again with the light, a single lesion is all Raven needs to see, almost hidden by the shape of his tongue. His small teeth look neglected. She swallows down a reaction and takes Aden’s upper arm in a warm, gentle grip. Abby looks up and checks her, quickly. Her searching, quiet gaze takes her emotional temperature, a compassionate, unspoken  _I see you, too_  and then she’s back to business with Aden. 

She administers a quick cup of liquid Raven guesses will put Aden to sleep and she holds his hands and soothes her fingers through his hair until he passes out, still talking. Abby snaps off her gloves, and Raven squeezes his hand one more time before gently removing hers. When she finally looks up, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen the look on Abby’s face before. It’s steady and unremarkable, but it sends a shiver through her before it’s gone.

Abby hits an on-call button, and they don’t have to wait a minute before the nurse comes in again. “Stay with him, Nancy. Did you—“

”Yes. Records of the call already on the books. From last time, too.”

“Thank you. Where’s Jackson?”

“Waiting for you downstairs. East Bay doors. ETA five minutes”

Abby swipes the curtain aside. “Raven, come with me.”

* * *

“She says she only smokes meth in her bedroom while Aden is in another room. She only smokes meth on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because of the baby and she can drop both kids of with her mother. Sometimes.” Jackson looks about as calm as he can while he fills Abby and Marcus in.

“And they have that on record?” Marcus asks.

“Yes.” Jackson sighs, “She said she broke her glass pipe Tuesday morning, dropping meth onto her bed. So, Aden climbs into bed with her twice that morning and could have gotten meth in his system that way.”

“She had him smoke it with her.” Raven murmurs.

All three doctors look at her.

“He’s too smart and too trusting. And he’s curious but not stupidly so. Even if he did, it would have tasted god awful and he would have spit it out. Someone had to light the pipe for him or else feed it to him with candy or something. He wouldn’t have done it on his own. He would have seen what it did to her and stayed away from it. But he would do anything his mom said.”

Abby nods, “I agree. There were mouth sores.”

“How many times—“

Abby shakes her head, “Between the time he came in first and this time? I don’t know.”

“You knew the first time. How long does it take CPS to get their shit straight? Why wasn’t he brought into emergency custody immediately?” Raven snaps.

Marcus grunts eloquently, and Abby’s placid, uninflected tone when she answers is legitimately terrifying. It’s hiding fury.

“Nancy found weed in the baby’s diaper. CPS is here, and the police. She’s being taken in on suspicion of child endangerment. She’ll face possession charges, too.”

“What will happen to Aden and the baby?” Raven asks, already knowing the answer.

* * *

Abby checks to see that blood and anti-arrhythmic drugs are flowing and checks the monitors on the middle-aged woman. Pulse and blood pressure stable. O2 sats excellent. She was lucky. A cardiac arrest on city transit, snarling up rush hour—it was all over the news. This woman caused thousands of people a huge pain in the ass and now half the network reporters and camera crews are in the waiting room now. She’d come in conscious and bitching everyone out. Abby knew she’d wake up mortified and ready to beat everyone to death.

“Okay,” she said to the waiting nurses. “Take it from here. I left five minutes ago.”  
  
“Thanks, Abby,” Marcus says. “Go home and get some rest.”  
  
Abby pulls off her gloves, takes off her white coat, and heads towards the locker room after completing the trauma admitting form on the woman’s chart. The woman’s family is here and Jackson is already speaking to them. She can leave.  
  
“Have you seen Raven?”  
  
Marcus shakes his head; “She didn’t look so good after this morning. She wasn’t shadowing you after lunch?”   
  
“No, she went missing about an hour ago.”  
  
“Did you check the kid’s room?” Marcus asks without looking up. It’s asked softly, so the nurses milling around won’t hear. Except Nancy. Nancy hears everything.  
  
“She’s in there. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Aden Coleman has no family in state except for his mom and baby sister. Police and social workers already came through. I think Raven probably sweet-talked her way past the dumbass on duty. She’s beautiful.” She finishes with a snort.  
  
“She is that.” Marcus smiles down at his paperwork.  
  
“She’s a child. Doctor Kane.” Nancy says without turning around and enters data into the system.  
  
“Hardly,” Abby mutters.  
  
“I’ve dated—“

“Shut up, Doctor Kane. No one needs to know that mess.” Nancy says.  
  
“Damn.”

* * *

Raven leans against the wall in Aden’s room watching him. This whole day isn’t making an awful lot of sense, but Raven’s pretty sure this is one of her more coherent days in a while since she met Abby, and it’s because she’s been living with high levels of uncertainty for so long she knows that what Aden means to her right now is something she may need to finally talk about.

Like the fact that what happened in Las Vegas and the careless way they went about the annulment doesn’t really make sense given both their personalities. Maybe she would be more likely than Abby to let something like this happen, but not really. And there’s also the fact that she knows she shouldn’t have cared about any of it as much as she does, when she has a nice life. She has good friends. She has two people, at the very least, who love her unconditionally.

She’s been sketchy all day, trying to concentrate on what’s in front of her. Whatever presented itself on her rounds with Abby was what she desperately held onto for as long as she could. Just one thing after another. One crisis, two, countless things to concentrate on.   
  
She’s watched Abby for weeks now. She’s completely at ease evaluating and triaging the endless traumas and emergencies; she’s impeccable at dealing with different personalities and emotions. Her impatience, if it can be called that, is purely professional. She’s strangely reckless and arrogant, and Marcus is the same way; they’re both surgeons, but she’s methodical about it. She directs her team with cool efficacy.

Raven’s seen very little like it before, not even Marcus and Jackson has the certainty Abby does in the middle of the ongoing, unrelenting shitshow that is a Trauma Unit. She’s vastly untroubled. She directs everyone around her with an authority Raven’s never experienced in her many, many times in a hospital, or frankly in any kind of situation. It balances Raven, gives her a lifeline in what is, for her, a horrific, uncontrollable environment.   
  
But right now Raven’s going down fast, and she stares at Aden hoping she finds a way through her extreme discomfort and anger.   
  
Aden looks small and so fragile, and so alone. And he’s sleeping just fine; twitching a little, deep and gone as the meth makes its way out of his system. He’s sleeping like the toddler he is, sweaty, all arms and legs at weird angles and his butt in the air. She adjusts his blankets and thinks about closing his mouth before sitting next to him instead, grabbing his limp, sweet hand as she does. Compared to him, she’s cold. Freezing.  
  
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Her fingers compulsively stroke over the scar on her leg and then over and over her left eyebrow. She doesn't need this kind of reminder; she wants to move forward like she promised herself back when her mom died. That everything in life was out there for her, and her mother was something she could walk away from—God, it's more than she can handle, and all she can handle doing right now next to Aden’s little body is the unconscious self-soothing she started in school when things got terrible—before Anya and Lexa caught on— and followed her to her hiding place, learned how to distract her, and she learned how to talk about all of it.  
  
Back and forth. Back and forth. Sweat drips into her eyes and down her neck. She lets go of Aden’s hand and draws her own down to touch his arm. He doesn’t budge, but he sighs and makes a little noise in response. He’s unconscious of his surroundings, and Raven thanks Abby fervently for letting him have a few hours of peace to go through withdrawal—he won't worry about how hungry he is or why his mom is so angry all the time—or where he'll wake up next and when. Abby’s allowed him to escape a storm. 

Raven tilts her head back, hopes she can feel as safe as a sleeping child for maybe a little while, and then she keeps watch over him.

* * *

Abby is studying her when Raven finally says, without turning around, "You can come in, you know. I’m fine. Aden’s okay. He’s sleeping, he doesn’t know about his mom yet and he’ll be out for a few more hours."

"You haven’t eaten—"

"I’m not hungry," Raven says, firmly, more adamant than she feels. How she feels is an odd thing right now. “Actually, I’m starving. But I need to stay. He shouldn’t wake up alone.”

“There’s nothing you can do for him. Come with me, okay? Just down the street for an hour or so. It’s either that or Doritos or hospital food. I don’t want to manage an avoidable bout of food poisoning along with everything else. We’ll risk it together at the bar. Great pub food.”

Just like that, Raven seems to hear her, because she relaxes and says, reasonably. "My stomach is pretty indestructible.” And then, more softly, “I can’t do anything for him anyway, can I?"  
  
“No,” Abby says, her voice a little rough. “But if you want to be here when he wakes up I can make sure that happens. No other visitors have come. No other family.”  
  
Raven gives a nod of vague confirmation, then when she tries to lift herself out of the chair and extricate herself from Aden’s unconscious grip on her shirt, she stumbles and almost goes down. She sits back abruptly and places her head on her knees. Abby’s starts forward and then stops.  
  
“Stay there,” Abby said, keeping her voice low and matter of fact like they’re talking about the weather. “I want to check something first. I’ve brought orange juice. I have two here. One for Aden and one we can share.”  
  
Raven takes the juice without looking up, and sips on it and then folds her hands into her lap, resting the juice between them. Abby moves around behind her, and Raven tolerates Abby’s hands, gently probing and assessing, on her neck for a moment before shrugging them off. “I don’t have low blood pressure. I’m fine.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” Abby says, watching Raven.   
  
Her face goes through a few expressions before she snaps, “Abby. I’m okay. Really.”

“You’re freezing, and your lips are a little off-color. I—“   
  
“Abby.” Raven’s voice comes out slow, measured, and with a tremendous effort at simple articulation. She’s not looking at Abby and sags deeper into the chair. Abby comes around and kneels down, and Raven—despite her clear, weak attempt at annoyance—rests against her, grateful for the support. Raven’s eyes are unfocused and the color of her skin is awful. Her pulse is erratic as hell. Abby rubs her palm across Raven’s shoulders. “Let me get you something warm at least.”

When Raven doesn’t respond for a long time. Abby’s expression shifts from concerned to neutral. Raven must see it because she becomes even more at loose ends. Abby leaves and walks back in with a cable-knit sweater.

"Put this on, Okay? Do you want to have this talk here, or after we get you a burger or something?" Abby asks.

"Because he reminds me of—and—" Raven can feel the panic rise when her breath rushes out of her with a sigh, "Abby, This was me once. I can’t help him. Why can't I—"

"Raven," Abby says, and when she looks at Raven there’s no mask at all. She covers Raven with the sweater as best she can. “I assume you like fries?"

Raven doesn't answer for a moment and the sweater smells like Abby, and Raven loses her train of thought.

“Onion rings. And bacon.”

“Okay.”

“And cheese. That would be good.”

“I’ll be right back. You can eat and then we can get some fresh air.”

* * *

“So.” Abby swipes a fry through some ketchup and hands it over to Raven. “You were a crack baby?”

Raven sprays a mouthful of Doctor Pepper and then she's coughing while Abby snorts and barely stops herself from laughing. Abby heads to the bathroom and returns a moment later with some towelettes.

"What is  _wrong_  with you?" Raven complains. “You can't just—“

"Well, obviously you’re having some kind of particular reaction right now, and you’re supremely good at looking like someone just kicked your puppy. It's professional curiosity.” Abby says, rolling her eyes a little. “For a while, I just assumed it was more of a floating anxiety. Hospitals are tough.”

“It is particular. Kind of,” Raven says. “Aden and I have some things in common.”

“I gathered.” Abby nods and offers her another fry. “And that’s why—“

“I hate hospitals. Yes.”

Abby wipes her hands with a napkin and pushes her burger towards Raven, “Go ahead and finish it.”

Raven murmurs happily. “I’m okay. I got through it. I’m literally a rocket scientist with a specialization in Artificial Intelligence. Maybe Aden will grow up and—“

“Raven.”

“There’s nothing to say about it. I’m alive. I’m okay and I’m a functioning adult, somewhat.”

“You’re on another month of rounds with me. I need to know if you can handle it. We can do this another way. Monty or Jasper can—”

“What? And miss hanging out with my ex-wife? No.” Raven smiles around a mouthful of food. “How did your talk with Clarke go?”

Abby sighs and crumples a napkin in her hand, before putting her feet up on the small table, shaking her head. “Okay. It went fine. She’s… God, she’s my daughter, you know? She looks like Jake but she’s… yeah, she’s definitely my child. We’re both stubborn, avoidant, we compartmentalize, we're self-righteous—“

“Beautiful.”

The small smile that elicits is worth the risk of getting slugged. Raven will take it.  
  
“Yes. She is beautiful. But Jake was too.”

“I’m glad. She’s spoken a little about you, and what happened, why she left—mostly in the context of a group of people. Never one-on-one with me. I didn’t know she was talking about you obviously although the parallels must have pinged a little at least. No, I’m sure they did. But I didn’t put it together. I don’t think I wanted to.” Raven says, shifting next to her. “I’m—I don’t mean to make you upset. I always kind of just said she was lucky to  _have_  a mother.”

Abby’s not too exhausted to notice when Raven’s being honest, and just being so kind it makes her ache, so instead, she just says, “It’s up to her what she wants to do, of course, but it was a good start. She’s—she’s lost, you know? A lot like me. Killing your husband doesn’t really go away in the scheme of things.”

She glances over to see Raven watching her. It’s not too much between them, this conversation, it’s really familiar territory and instead she's quiet as Raven clearly struggles with what she should have figured out sooner, impossibly.

“Clarke said she hadn’t thought of me much at all, in the past few years,” Abby finally says, before checking on Aden again and then turning back to Raven and lowering her voice.  “I told her that I’d thought of her every day. Maybe that’s enough.”

She doesn’t think she’s ever said anything with less conviction in her life, and Raven’s face remains impassive and unimpressed for a long few seconds too many for her to be comfortable at all. Abby is not used to feeling this blatantly off-balance, or she’s been better at deflecting it before. Nothing’s been  _really_ the same since Jake died.

Abby slides a folder out of her bag. “We need to talk.”

Raven rubs at her face, beyond loopy now that the protein is hitting her system, and just shakes her head. “There’s something more important than you and Clarke? Because that doesn’t sound right to me. I really would love to talk about this with you and there’s no better time. Neither of us have—”

“Raven,” Abby says, softly, because for the life of her she can’t imagine how this part of the conversation needs to go. “I do want to have this between us. It’s good—nice. It helps.” She takes a deep breath and opens the folder.

“The Notary came to see me a few days ago. I didn’t call because I—well, I didn’t call." Abby stalls out, a little anguished, and Raven feels her heart flip.

She could lie that she doesn’t know what’s coming, but really, she’s surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

“Our names.” She states flatly, and Abby catches her eye. “Is it a felony? Because… well.”

Abby’s hand squeezes down, crumpling the papers before she notices she’s doing it, and Raven feels the room swimming.

“Can we—we need to talk about this, and no it’s not a felony. It's just kind of a bitch that this hospital has a notary that’s both my friend and probably one of the few real boy scouts left in the world. He doesn’t want to know anything, he laughed at me about it, but he can’t— It’s something about not wanting to be hauled in front of a judge or a deposition or whatever.” Abby says, carefully, bizarrely trying not to go into hysterical laughter. “We were never married to begin with. He suggests we burn these papers and just forget about it. And go on pretending that we’re both functioning, highly intelligent adults with government clearances and other important details and not fucking idiots.”

That much, Raven probably knew already, and so she just plays dumb and blinks owlishly at Abby. “I bet he didn’t say it that way, tho.”

“You would be correct.”

“I’m sort of mortified right now.”

“MMhm.”

“Ok, but explain anyway.”

Abby grabs her hand on instinct and tries not to lose it because she’s never seen quite this hilarious array of expressions vying all at once across Raven’s face before, and it’s kind of awesome.

“Okay, honey. This is how he explained it. There’s nothing to prevent us from having an assumed name like, I don’t know, a movie star, but we can only have one legal name, and in using an assumed name we can’t knowingly defraud anyone or hide our identity from the police or the FBI or CIA or you know, NASA. If any of our funders found out about it... not good. Catastrophic. That could be construed as fraud. But the 'marriage' wouldn’t be any more than a big deal than if I called you a nickname, for example, and if a police officer asks you to identify yourself—you'd better use your legal name, not "Cher."

Raven expression brightens significantly because they really are ridiculous, “This is why I like rocket fuel. It’s really simple. Things just blow up.”

Abby keeps a straight face, sort of. “I’m not sure how you got yours and I don’t  _really_ want to know where your identification card or passport or whatever you used that night came from, did you get it online? And you don’t want to know where mine comes from, or why I need it.”

"Oh, but Abby. I really do want to know.”

 “I’m former CIA. Jake and I—“

" _Shut up_ , were you really?" Raven asks, sounding absolutely like she’s at the malt shop gossiping with the Pink Ladies about to break into  _Beauty School Dropout_. “Wait. I’m not supposed to know this, right?” She exhales, “Oh, my god. This is so great. Anya is going to  _die._ ”

Abby slaps her leg, “You cannot tell anyone. I’m only telling you because you’ve—“

The look on Raven’s face is honestly just— _infantile_ , “Yes, I have.”

"I’m not talking to you.”

"Abby. This is fantastic. Do you know how  _hot_ that is?”

"This discussion is over.”

Raven grabs her arm before Abby can shoot off the couch, “No, really. I’ll behave. I’m sorry. Promise.”

"Technically,” Abby clears her throat, “Both of us only have one legal name, and we didn’t sign the marriage contract with those names."

“You’ve totally sent a cyber-ops team in to erase the records haven’t you?”

Abby’s face is so surprisingly serious all of a sudden that Raven stops laughing really fast and just stares at her. Abby shrugs. “It wouldn’t do to have our project possibly get derailed. We’re talking about the intellectual property law and trademark protections involved. Also, my former handler would probably have me assassinated. I’ve already had my notary friend—”

 “Uhm. What?”

“Not really. Anyways, long story short, we were never married.” Abby sighs and runs her hands down her pants, straightening non-existent creases, as the insane weirdness of the conversation sinks in.

“Well.”

“Right.”

“You were really CIA—?“

“Raven.”

* * *

Raven sleeps awhile. She doesn’t ask how much more time they have left with Aden; she just lets Abby’s fingers trail through her hair until she dozes off. Abby closes her eyes; and tries not to think about Raven in her arms, her warm breath against her neck in sharp contrast to the chill air in the room. They do have some time.

She’d left instructions with the staff to leave Aden be for the next 24 hours while all the crap in his system works its way through and is finally done with. Abby pulls Raven closer, instinctively wanting to warm Raven like she can’t warm anyone else. She can do only so much; but maybe, she thinks as Raven’s lips brush the sensitive skin just under her ear as she murmurs in her sleep, there’s more she can do here than she thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Lexa basically wakes up with Anya and Raven draped around her asleep.  
   
She glances at her phone; it's only 6 in the morning, and Raven didn't come in until 3 am. She forces herself to get up, untangling gently, soothing both of them back to sleep when they protest. She sweeps her hand down Raven’s torso and nuzzles Anya who—barely conscious—gives her a long, sweet kiss before closing her eyes again. And then Lexa pads into the kitchen dressed in a thin, worn long sleeve shirt, and soft sweatpants.  
   
She makes coffee.  
   
She gathers the ingredients for pancakes, and places them on the counter—if Raven sees them, she’ll make them—and then she grabs her mug and heads out with a blanket on to the garden deck to watch the sunrise.

* * *

Eventually, Clarke joins her wearing Raven’s robe—all midnight blue against the contrast of blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes—and sits down next to her.  
   
"It's so early? Why?" Clarke grumbles.  
   
"My home, my rules," Lexa says, with a small smile as Clarke settles and tips into her—for warmth, out of unconscious habit, who knows—Lexa doesn’t care as long as she does it. Her chest does something funny when Clarke sighs softly, and the heat of her, her scent—she used Lexa’s own body wash last night.  
   
"Thanks for letting Octavia and me crash here, _again_ ,” Clarke says after they sit like that for long moments. Lexa’s grateful for Clarke’s general inability to be fully conscious until mid-morning—otherwise, this closeness, this weird little interlude, and truce—wouldn’t happen at all.  
   
"Where do I know you from?" Clarke says, finishing up the rest of Lexa’s now-cold coffee, and putting it down next to her. "I can get more—"  
   
"No it’s fine, I only need a half a cup usually,” Lexa smiles, angling her head so she’s talking close to Clarke’s ear. Clarke doesn’t move away. “I guess you might know me from a couple of films I’ve done?”  
   
Clarke pulls away and takes a good look at her, screws up her face in concentration adorably.  
   
"No. Nope," Clarke goes back to leaning on her, “You just look like her.”  
   
"She’s a horrible actor," Lexa says, and then yawns quietly.  
   
"Run some lines for me?" Clarke asks, after a long time, and smiles as Lexa rolls her eyes.  
   
"No."  
   
"When was the last time? Why not?"  
   
“It’s—it’s kind of weirdly intimate. And you don’t like me.” Lexa barely hides her delight when Clarke stares at her hard.  
   
“I don’t _dislike_ you.”  
   
“Mm. You've made that very clear.”  
   
“Why, because you want to get me in bed?” Clarke’s tone is kind and challenging.  
   
Lexa decides it’s too early for this shit. “No, because I’d imagine someone like you wouldn’t be very impressed with what I do for a living," she nudges Clarke with her shoulder, “I don't really think I want to fuck you. My life is pretty full.”  
   
“Okay, first of all, I’m an artist, so whatever, that's like acting. Sort of. Not at all. Secondly, Lexa, you came on to me pretty fucking strongly. And you didn’t tell me you were in a—I don’t even know what you’re in.”  
   
“So you don't think people— _me_ —you don’t think I can be blinded by my own emotions?” Lexa is seriously trying to keep a straight face.  
   
“Lexa, you didn’t see me and become—oh, whatever. Of course people can be blinded by their emotions, but not to the extent you say you are. It's too theoretical. Even a little stupid.”  
   
“I never said either way,” Lexa bursts out laughing, “It's a performance. It's an interpretation of life.”  
   
Clarke hesitates for a moment, and then says, "Oh."  
   
"So maybe, get over yourself?" Lexa says, the corner of her mouth lifts.  
   
"Okay," Clarke laughs softly, brushing her fingers over Lexa’s hand. “Listen, you’re… fine. It’s just—you’re life is a little too complicated for me.”  
   
“From what I can gather, mine is more straight-forward than yours. I’m not causing scenes in bars, and giving my mother a fucking stroke.”  
   
Clarke bites her lip because that actually hurt—she realizes too late she’s really in this conversation.  
  
 "I— my mother," Clarke says, carefully.  
   
"Yes.”  
   
"Ok, sure," Clarke says, and Lexa reaches out to knead her neck. She doesn’t shrug her off, but she’s not happy. And she’s waking up.  
   
"I don’t need or want to hear anything about it—you just have to know that judging me on anything, especially an attraction to you, is bullshit," Lexa says, unintentionally harshly, and then sighs. "Sorry—"  
   
"No, it's—so you _are_ attracted to me? What’s stopping you from asking me out on a date?" Clarke asks.  
   
Lexa frowns spectacularly, with too little coffee in her system to deal with this, "You already shot me down—"  
   
"I don’t—honestly, I’m sorry," Clarke finally says, her voice so frail that Lexa’s head starts spinning with hurt. She hurts for Clarke. “I was angry that night. We walked in on you and Raven. It was a little shocking, okay?”  
   
"Okay."  
   
"Okay," Clarke says, smiling suddenly, before tugging Lexa’s blanket around her own shoulders, so that they share it. Apparently, they can do this. It can be this simple. “So did anyone fill you in on the Thanksgiving plans? They’ve been in the works for weeks now. Come. We're going next week. Bring Raven and Anya. I mean, you all know more about my family drama now than I do.”

"You haven't been there since—"

"Since my father died."

"It's a big deal."  
   
Clarke stares at Lexa until Lexa smiles; it takes a bit but finally, it happens.  
   
"So.” Clarke stands up, holding her hand out. “You want pancakes? I’m really good at pancakes."

* * *

The drive from the ferry is smooth enough given the weather and the approaching holiday. Pre-Thanksgiving traffic towards Wood's Hole is sparse. They arrive at the house way after midnight. Bellamy, Octavia, and Lincoln get busy unloading, and Clarke, wrapped in a puffy jacket, pajamas and boots climbs the steps and stands under the porch light, hesitating. She’s staring through the main house towards the back forty. The rain is a steady mist around them, and by the time Clarke shakes herself out of wherever she’s gone and slips the key into the lock, the bags and everyone is soaked through. No one says a word.

Clarke remains outside as they transfer the luggage and groceries into the house.  
  
She’s been waiting there for a while, looking out into the darkness, the damp air saturates the sun-bright waves of her hair, and she hasn’t bothered to shake it out, or put her hat back on.

Bellamy comes around to stand with her. Clarke leans heavily on him. Bellamy’s being very careful with her, at least physically, more careful than Clarke could hope for after the debacle of this whole entire fucking day. She’d been a mess in the car, snappish and moody. She’d disappeared into a rest stop for over a half an hour, finally emerging red-eyed and with eight Happy Meals.  
   
Clarke almost cries when Bellamy smiles—and it somehow makes the last few hours worth it. Clarke knows that’s crazy as hell, but she also knows that this person is just relieved to be with her again, uncomplicated, and so all Clarke can do is lean against him and wait for her vision to clear, hoping that Bellamy will—

Bellamy steps down from the porch and takes her in his arms. He deposits her gently into a pile of leaves.  
  
“Welcome home, Clarke.”

* * *

Lexa grips the old porch’s banister in both hands.She guesses it was Clarke who coaxed the old iron stove back to life earlier that morning before she’d come down to the kitchen. She has on her favorite thick wool fisherman’s sweater, and Clarke’s heavy dark blue watchman’s beanie pulled down over her ears against the early chill.  
  
She looks out into the meadow and adjusts slowly to being awake. The storm came quickly, brilliantly, during the night and covered the landscape and fields around the farmhouse in a maelstrom of blown, colorful leaves. It would be beautiful at some point, but right now she’s barely awake and the sun is just up—the surrounding fields sometimes visible through the flurries of leaves and wind. She, Raven and Anya had been on the same ferry as the others, although with the large holiday crowd, and given the size of the boat, they hadn’t seen each other.  
  
Anya and Raven are still asleep. Lexa arrived exhausted and cranky and had gone straight to bed. Raven had poured herself some of the hot cocoa Bellamy made them and stretched her legs out in front of the fire, falling asleep so quickly Bellamy almost didn’t get the heavy mug out of her hand in time. Anya had spent a nice hour or so chatting with Bellamy—apparently, that had ended up in an unnecessary stand-off about the best way to roast a turkey.  
  
She’d slept through most of the storm, and she’d come awake only when the 50-mile an hour wind swept against the house, and blew glittering debris off the tops of the birch trees surrounding the land that had been in Abby and Clarke’s family for generations—it was beautiful to see it through the high wall of windows when she’d come down to make herself a snack.  
  
Clarke had been up and made them sandwiches and they’d talked. She gave her a quick history of the house. Obviously, Clarke was barely functioning—already highly triggered and trying to cover it up with low-key sarcasm and snack making—and Lexa had just sort of stopped the conversation and asked Clarke to introduce everything downstairs as slowly as possible with as much detail as possible. Looking at pictures, Clarke recalled stray conversations, shared activities. Clarke was scared and tired and hurt. So they went around the house and put all the photos away. It had taken most of the night. It was the weirdest fucking thing.  
  
She sighs heavily and rubs at her eyes. They have four days before Thanksgiving.   
  
Lexa steps out into the disorienting, flat brightness of dawn and scented wood smoke mixes with cigarette smoke—like a friendly embrace—God, she misses smoking.   
  
The rain, still falling lightly, tickles her face as she crosses the porch and carefully negotiates the three steps down to the deer path that leads to the meadow around the back of the house. She follows a single track of footprints, just barely outlined in the mud. The tracks are about an hour old; Clarke must have come out here before the sun rose.  
  
Clarke turns at the muted sound of Lexa’s boots whispering through the two feet of uncut grasses. She’s wearing another wool beanie she found in the mudroom. It had been too early to go groping around for wherever she’d thrown her stuff the night before and she’d just grabbed it off the hooks beside the door. She wonders if her mother’s scent will ever be unfamiliar. The beanie is Abby’s. She’d worn it the last time they were all here years ago.  
  
It’s startling to her how like home Lexa already feels. Clarke gets her first really good look at the girl making her way towards her—brilliant on the new light and very sleepy.  
  
“You’re up,” Clarke says, turning to welcome her.  
  
“That I am,” Lexa says, “Spare one?”  
  
Clarke takes a light drag of her cigarette and hands it to Lexa. She accepts it gratefully and shifts her full cup of coffee into Clarke’s hands. Clarke responds with an unselfconscious, happy groan of appreciation and takes a long sip. They’re silent for a while.  
  
“Beautiful day,” Clarke says with a small laugh.  
  
Lexa looks at her with amused suspicion. She has to know a lame remark about the weather sounds perverse.  
  
“How’s your girl gang doing?” Clarke looks down at the steaming cup in her hand as if it was the best thing she’s ever experienced.  
  
“Boring.”  
  
“Well, honest.” Clarke laughs, “They both fall asleep on you? That’s a buzzkill.”  
  
“Mmhm. Wore them out,” Lexa smiles big, “Anya’s getting old.” She says, as if that was the best explanation and Clarke half-smiles, and regrets this conversation immediately. Because, yeah.  
  
Clarke peers at her over the rim of the mug, “Those papers we found last night? I slogged through them a little. They're some of my dad’s notes. He gets better as he goes along. His logic is shaky, and he can’t work himself out of a wet paper bag but—” Clarke shrugs, and hands the coffee back to Lexa. “His Convex Operations stuff is pretty interesting.”  
  
“You should have Raven look at it. Your dad was an engineer, yes?”  
  
Clarke frowns. She feels as if she’s said something stupid and rolls her eyes slightly at herself. It’s going to be nearly impossible to do this—being here. She feels raw. And now she’s fixating on Lexa’s relationship with Raven. What the fuck.  
  
Lexa had just meant she thinks the world of Raven and her gigantic brain—oh fuck knows what she’d meant. Clarke’s severely off balance—more so since Lexa showed up with Raven and Anya last night. Lexa, only half-concentrated on her, if at all, thank God, focuses across the woods at a small fox balancing itself just at the edge of the vast clearing. They’ve been spotted, and she smiles at the animal’s shy regard and obvious consternation. Like, what the hell, who would be out this early except for him?  
  
She’s told Lexa a lot more than she thought she would, for no reason that sits right with her, at all. Lexa had asked quiet and interested questions. Abby Griffin’s groundbreaking research changed their life. Jake was always busy with his work with NASA, and Abby was altruistic and ambitious. Her breakthroughs even then were legendary. Jake and Abby had hatched the seeds for her current research. The project Raven was such an integral part of now.

Clarke’s surprised Raven hasn’t told Lexa anything. Or maybe she has, and Lexa is just that well mannered and polite. The objectives of the project are simple. Augmented reality systems used to overlay relevant information required during surgery typically displayed on multiple monitors stacked around the surgeon—pre-operative images, lab test results and details of previous surgeries.  
  
Abby was the lead on a team that built a conscious machine. She suggests this casually as a joke once while cooking dinner with Jake and Clarke—an offhand remark sketching out an artificial intelligence scheme in which consciousness generates as the result of a human brain grown from cellular scratch—stem cells—and dinner is forgotten and Clarke has to make due with waffles. They were great waffles.  
  
In the following months, Abby vaults from one of the most prominent trauma surgeons in the country to leading a team of researchers at a top-secret level of clearance even Jake doesn’t have access to. Her constant travel and absences on one lecture circuit or another, her keynotes at academic conferences, take her all over the world—and Clarke never really forgives her mother. Abby accomplishes things at a young age and at a high cost to her relationships. She’s recognized and lauded by the medical community worldwide.  
  
“I love her, Lexa,” Clarke said over the ham sandwiches and a glass of milk, “And I want to kill her. Mom is all compassion and singular focus, and smart as hell,” Clarke looks very small in the big farmhouse kitchen. “But she wasn’t around. Dad was.”  
  
“I wish I’d met him.” Lexa takes a bite of her sandwich, watching her closely.  
  
Clarke and Jake read to each other next to the fire pit on cold nights while Abby worked or skypes with team members, and colleagues all over the world and in different time zones.  
   
“She made great hot chocolate on the Bunsen burner,” Clarke adds, softly.  
  
It’s Jake who realizes Clarke’s an artist. He pays very close attention to her when he can. When he’s not away on work trips.  
  
“All that meant to me,” Clarke says “Is that I had two highly secretive, absent and loving parents and it was confusing and alienating. I hated them both, but Dad was around so he took it. I was almost intolerable.”  
  
“That’s their lab.” Lexa points with certainty to a low barn.  
   
“Yes,” Clarke says, and turns away.

* * *

The next day, just before dawn, Raven and Bellamy sit in an open 1987 Ford pick-up overlooking the roaring hiss of the surf below and eat granola from a plastic bag. She holds out the fresh, drip-brewed Columbian coffee she’d spiked with the best whiskey they found in the farmhouse to Bellamy. She leans over the console to stash her wallet and keys under the passenger seat. Clarke sprawls in the back, half-asleep.  
  
Bellamy also packed them a breakfast sandwich, a waffle and a side of bacon. He brings that out and gives Raven a choice, the waffle or the egg sandwich. Bacon is the obvious choice. Clarke sleepily reaches out a hand for the sandwich without opening her eyes. Bellamy pours nonfat milk over a bowl of raisin bran. They pass the hot drink between them silently until another car pulls in.  
  
The light breeze is moisture-laden: wet without raindrops. Bellamy wonders aloud if it’s ever going to let up. He feels saturated. Then the rain begins to fall, hard at first but finally becoming an earnest damp fog through the seagrasses–not a downpour. There are thunderstorms and torrential rains to the north, to the east and to the south, but they had a gentle constant showering during the night again.   
   
They wait it out another ten minutes. Raven and Bell wave to Lincoln and Octavia and Raven tosses the granola to Lincoln, who splits it with O.  
  
They all sit for a while, smelling the salt flats and brine and the faint residual exhaust coming off the fishing boats just a quarter of a mile past the swell.  
  
The storm from the last two nights and the very recent rain still lingers in the faint mist that covers their bodies as they strip down and slip into their full body suits, zip up and jog past funky artists’ cottages in an easygoing, sleepy line down to the ocean. There’s a delicious crispness to these mornings on the island, the air cold and bright.  
  
Octavia is the first one in, and both Lincoln and Bellamy watch as Raven wades in and paddles quickly past the break. And then Bellamy throws himself and his board under a crashing set of waves. Clarke follows.  
  
Lincoln watches them for a minute before ducking out of his beat up Gore-Tex rainwear and diving in under the vaulted ceiling of the sky and retreating thunderheads. They gather in a circle and watch the last of the lightning flashes sparking the center of the shimmering liquid mountains above them and the blazing red sun catches the surface of the ocean and turns it into a vast, shifting field of gold.  
  
When they came back to shore an hour later. They lay out in the sand and Lincoln makes a crown of late, seasonal wildflowers and seaweed for Octavia. They pass another special coffee brew back and forth. They split the last of the blueberry muffin Octavia only half-finished.

* * *

Bellamy kisses the top of Raven and Clarke’s heads when they get back to the house. Lincoln and Octavia have already gone inside. Lexa welcomes Raven with a long, warm kiss.  
   
“Who the hell are you people?” Anya grumbles as Clarke walks past her, “Let a girl know next time.”

Clarke stops, startled, “You surf?”

“Uhm. Yes, youngster. Born and raised in the water.”  
   
“Huh.” Clarke manages.  
   
Anya winks at her, and smiles genuinely, “We’ll go tonight? Sunset should be amazing.”  
  
Raven nods, hops out of the truck and crosses the lawn to strip off her clothes, before running into the house.  
  
Bellamy lays the gear out on the porch and sprays it down before going in. Octavia stands next to him. “Clarke doing okay?” She asks quietly.

Octavia stands next to him. “Clarke doing okay?” She asks quietly.  
  
Bellamy shrugs, “I don’t know.”  
  
“The surfing is helping for sure, but the rest of it?” Lincoln drags the suits over to hang-dry. “I don’t know yet.”  
  
“She’s remembering,” Lexa says.  
  
“God, I missed her.” Octavia sighs.  
   
“I’d imagine you did.”

* * *

Raven notices Abby first, she’s obviously older than the regular college crowd back for the holidays, and so much more attractive than anyone else. Abby threads through the mass of bodies towards their table. Raven edges out Bellamy to ask her if she needs a drink. She slides a bar snacks menu towards her and gestures happily at the demolished plates of fries and sliders.  
  
“No thanks,” Abby says, without looking at her.  
  
“Hi, Abby.”

Abby’s hair carelessly frames her face, pulled back in a loose ponytail, it’s an amazing mixture of golds, light browns and a whisper of auburn. If that wasn’t remarkable enough, Raven subtly cruises the smooth, pale skin, deep brown eyes, and perfectly balanced features. Her eyes unconsciously trace Abby’s delicately arched brows, fine cheekbones and her full, expressive mouth, used to smiling. It’s the sharp intelligence and penetrating gaze that catches Raven up short, and makes it hard to breathe. Abby’s body underneath the clothes hints at a natural athleticism, and her hands are strong and graceful, a surgeon’s hands. Jesus, Raven has never seen anyone like her.  
  
Raven takes her all in with a blatant, unconscious appreciative glance, like a chance meeting of one forest animal that comes across another sentient being deep in a hidden glade. Neither of them is intrusive with each other, just instinctively curious, still. Waiting, even after all this time.  
  
Abby sighs, “At this point, I shouldn’t be surprised, right?”  
  
“That’s a good policy.” Raven smiles, delighted to see her. She sobers pretty quickly. Clarke had no idea either. Thanksgiving could go south really fucking quickly.  
  
Even in the smoke-laden, low light of the interior with the ridiculous, haphazardly blinking multi-colored Christmas lights strung up all over the place making everyone practically anonymous—Abby stands out. 

“Did you see Clarke?”  
   
“Yes.” It comes out flat, and Raven winces. Great.  
  
Raven clears her throat “So, when you invited the team for a holiday slash brain-storm, you’d thought to come out here? Sorry for begging off on that. I’d—“  
   
“Already planned to come out here with Clarke and your friends.” Abby finishes.  
   
Raven bites her lip, and nods, feeling like an absolute, fucking tool. “Abby, I didn’t know.”  
  
Abby leans easily on the bar and glances at her. Raven looks good, relaxed, fit and strong looking. Her lightly muscled, perfectly toned bare arms are already a light tan from a few days in the wind and ocean, and her threadbare, well-worn almost shapeless khakis stretch and form themselves over lean thighs. A loose sun-bleached black v-neck teeshirt highlights her shoulders. Black hair with shimmering lighter brown highlights cascades in loose waves down her upper back.  
  
Abby’s always loves looking at her. Her skin has a slightly heightened sheen—smooth, young and vibrant as if she spends most of her life outdoors in every season absorbing the sun, wind and bracing chill; perpetually wind-swept and flushed from cold fall air—she looks like she can settle beautifully into whatever season. Abiding warmth in summer, bright freshness in spring, banked heat in winter. The startling softness of her hair is a canvas against classically beautiful features—earnest, dark and penetrating eyes, smooth brow, carved cheekbones, caramel skin and full lips. Her eyes are a warm, dark amber and flicker with secret amusement and open confidence. Abby can't forget them.  
   
Abby curses silently. What rock has she been under for the last few weeks? She’s never behaved like this with anyone; even with Jake, she had a shred of sanity. She can’t believe she thought she could just _work_ with this girl. It’s been so long since—well, since.  
  
And then Lincoln comes up behind Raven and lifts her up off her feet, “You guys should go on down to the cove, the waves are beautiful right now.”  
   
Raven breathes out a soft, easy laugh and flicks his shoulder. Lincoln lets her down and turns her to face him and points to the ceiling.

“Full moon.” He raises an eyebrow at her and smiles.  
  
Raven smiles back, “Come sneak away with me,” she says to Abby over her shoulder. “Please? Clarke will be there when we get back. She won’t run.”  
  
Abby, who is staring blankly out at the bay through the open doors to the back porch, nods a yes. Raven gives Lincoln a kiss on the cheek, grabs Abby’s hand, and slips out through the kitchen into the night.

* * *

“Long week?” Raven is the first to speak.  
  
Abby cocks her head, “Not sure what you mean? How have you been? We haven't talked since Aden.”  
  
“Did you miss me?” Raven asks softly.  
  
Abby sighs with a slight edge of irritation she can’t hide after being so thrown off guard when she got to the house and saw Clarke was there, and now Raven. She and Clarke have talked every week, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be this constant, undiminished aching for her. She’d wanted to give Clarke time. She’d extended the invite to Clarke, just telling her Thanksgiving was going to be her and her team and an Offsite.

 _Fuck_ Marcus for suggesting they come here. Marcus, Jaha and Sinclair were with the bags at the house. Clarke had flushed violently, but welcomed them in. The good news was she'd hugged Abby. She wrapped her arms around her and buried her face in Abby's neck and didn't pull away for a long time.  
  
Raven can't really imagine it. Abby seeing the house all lit up, after so much time, with her daughter and her friends…. at the very least, Abby looks exhausted and sad.  
  
Abby considers jumping into the freezing water to clear her head.   
  
Raven stares. Comprehension finally dawns and Raven laughs to herself. “Did you really think she’d leave again?”  
   
Abby draws in a sharp breath.  
  
“Abby, I’m glad you’re here, okay? We'll figure something out. You'll be okay.“ Raven says gently and kneels down in the sand.

Abby sinks down next to her, suddenly very unsure if she’ll be able to stand on her own. “It’s like I came out to face everything, and found you,” Abby murmurs.  
  
Raven looks over from where she’s knelt beside Abby, the cold moonlight glints in Abby’s eyes, turning them to a translucent ice-blue. Raven _knows_ her eyes aren’t the color of the moon. Her irises remain a smoky darkness, a storm. The effect is disconcerting, a trick of the light, alien and Raven blinks it away—her eyes show everything usually but Raven senses a deep, abiding intelligence—wry and patient. And then Abby's eyes flicker back to their normal color. Abby’s presence is honey-warm, not unearthly at all.   
  
The mild hallucination could also be exhaustion.   
  
“It’s late,” Abby says, “You’re cold. Come back to the house and I can make you all something.”

"You want to swim? The tide is out, it's pretty calm and it doesn't get deep for a while."

"Raven, you're falling over on your feet. You were out here all day already—I can't believe you guys do this in late November."  
  
Abby's just talking. Her nerves really are all over the place. And Raven's so tired she hasn't moved at all, even for some promised food. The Surgeon in her chafes that she has absolutely no say or real control over this situation. Clarke is here. It’s ridiculous. Her life depends on precision. When she stops paying attention, lowers her guard, people move on with no regard for her part in their survival. In general, people don’t heed warnings and never learn from their mistakes. And she moves on too. That’s, after all, what she’s promised to do—to save lives, not live those lives for them. She’s steady and competent beyond most people’s capabilities but her life has gone off the rails a few months ago, because of the girl standing in front of her. God, what was wrong with her? Jake died and it fucked you the hell up, she thinks.  
  
But she hasn’t been able to be any of that with Raven or Clarke. And now her entire life, her whole fucking life is—she can’t even believe she thought coming out here was a good idea. Apparently, Clarke had the same brilliant stroke of genius.  
  
That’s when Raven leans into her and says. “Hi, Abby,” she smiles, “I’m a Gemini. Or an Aquarius. Not sure yet.’”  
   
“Raven, that’s the worst.”  
   
“Yeah, totally.” Raven clears her throat, “I think you’re beautiful, one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. I adore you. You're going to be alright.”


	9. Chapter 9

“What did you say?” and Abby, as pale as she already is under the moonlight, goes utterly white.

“I like you?” Raven mumbles. She’s horrified and blinks at Abby helplessly as Abby tries to process whatever she just said. Clearly, she’s going insane.

“Raven.”

“Abby.“

The silence is interminable.

“Wow. Okay?” Abby crosses her arms over her chest, and just… peers at her, “I would like—I just wanted to fix you something to eat. Take care of—all of you, a little.”

"I don't know, I mean, yes. That’s a great idea," Raven says, her voice small. A few months ago she would've thought this was funny and charming. Right now, she wants to disappear and cry. 

Abby takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “Clarke and I are alike in some ways and—“ 

Raven relaxes, she can talk about this, and “You both have mad baking skills.”

“Oh my god. How did you know?”

Abby Griffin is _trying_. Raven’s doomed. She has no idea what she’s doing.

“Okay, I might love oatmeal cookies.”

Abby laughs, “with chocolate chips. Come on. It’s cold.”

* * *

Clarke takes Lexa’s hand, smiling at her, silently asking her to follow her until there are just stars and wind off the ocean—clean, strong and sharp and there’s nothing else. Anya comes with them, wrapping an elegant scarf around her neck and lower face against the cold.

Clarke, uneasy and excited, is between worlds. Standing between Anya and Lexa, she can’t figure out where the north star is.

“Take us someplace here? Did you have a place you loved when you were a kid?” Anya asks, softly.

Clarke studies her. Anya, from what she knows about her, isn’t like this usually—Anya's a hard read, impartial, with no use for games or bullshit—so her tone and her sweetness surprise Clarke.

Anya can be real fucking weird about any slight to her autonomy but is always impeccably unconcerned by people in general. This isn’t politeness. She’s being direct, and genuine. It’s sort of hilarious for Lexa when people who don’t know her are confronted with her. Anya is as unnerving and rare as a person can be.

Clarke’s been friendly, all easygoing transactions and charm, but it’s been nothing like those first few intense days together. Lexa watched her with Bellamy and Octavia. She just wishes fervently that she knew anything about Clarke that would make this easier. She’s trying. And Anya reminded her that she does tend to be obnoxiously prone to Shakespearean levels of dramatics.

Lexa wanted to kick Bellamy’s ass into next week when he became outright unreasonable. And Lexa had let him go on, and on… and on. Lexa supposes that Clarke just has that effect on people; she low-key appreciated Bellamy cornering her and giving her the “you hurt her and I will fuck you up with a baseball bat” thing. It was nice to see someone notice what was going on with her besides Raven and Anya.

Clarke was different. Lexa hadn’t been this shy since she was a kid, just discovering what made her happy—and what had made her happy then was what makes her happy now. Being with Clarke, by Anya’s side, feels frightening, elemental. Right now, next to Clarke, Lexa has an impossible urge to grab hold of Anya and never let her go. She steps towards her unconsciously for warmth, and yeah, protection.

* * *

Raven checks to see if Abby is following her. 

"Raven?" Abby has to repeat herself when Raven stares at her blankly.

Abby leans back against her car, a little concerned. “You alright there?”

“Perfect,” Raven says, stiffly. And strides past Abby without looking at her. What the hell.

Raven is anything but fine. She’s been kidding herself for months. Abby opened the door to her hotel room, surrendered completely to the experience she wanted, and Raven went into a debilitating emotional whirlwind so quickly she almost passed out. It was that fast, that strong. She still hasn’t been able to come to terms with it. And everything is suffering; her work, her mind, her—she is far too old to behave like a crazed, hormonal teenager.

Abby held her hand a few moments longer than was strictly polite between strangers, even if she had paid for her. It was innocent, just Abby being Abby. She looked vulnerable, grateful, and Raven had literally, embarrassingly swooned.

And Abby, because Raven remembers this too, had an adorably perplexed, unguarded, goofy, surprised little smile on her face—a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and hunger—before she caught herself and took her hand back.

Abby is vastly intelligent about these things—Raven actually understands this now. Abby has been quietly steering them towards a real friendship since that weekend. Her maturity and fierceness, especially with Clarke, appeals to Raven in ways that are so blatantly obvious to her therapist that she has to stop a session and collapse in hysterical laughter.

The way Abby moves—her quiet certainty and humor, her strength—the veneer of civility barely containing immense sex appeal and power has Raven desiring a whole history and cartography she never knew existed.

Abby speaks easily of her work and her past, now—maybe just with Raven, maybe sometimes with Marcus—she does it as easily as she pours over the details of her every day in the Trauma Unit. She’s compassionate and visionary—she can be difficult and stubborn.

She was Jake’s. Jake was hers.

There is no overt seduction in Abby Griffin. She’d just simply closed the book of herself, put it back on a high and invisible shelf, and got on with her life—saving anyone she could.

* * *

This was inconvenient. And unwanted. 

Lexa, is untouchable, remote, despite her wild and kind nature, despite her obvious interest—she remains clear-minded and just as untouchable. She's a celebrity, stupidly, as if things couldn’t be more absurd. When Clarke began to think like this she hates Lexa. She understands the deep, unbreakable bond Lexa has with Raven and Anya.

So this thing, this thing that is happening to her right now. This riot of sensation and pleasure singing along every nerve of her body and soul—absolutely fucking not. Clarke has been alone too long and wants it that way.

She leads Lexa and Anya down her favorite path through the woods and hopes to God she can keep breathing.

* * *

“Kiss me,” Abby says simply, holding her waist loosely.

Raven looks at her, panicked.

“That's the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Abby steps closer, and Raven lets out a soft noise of dismissal. Abby almost laughs, Raven is actually challenging her.

“We can help each other.”

“Abby. Go away.”

Abby doesn’t move. She just runs her tongue from the hollow of Raven's throat to the edge of her jaw and then stills there. Raven makes a small sound of relief.

“How long has it been, Raven.”

“Two days ago.” 

“No. It’s been sooner than that. Someone else has had you.” 

Raven threads her fingers through Abby’s hair, and with some gentleness pulls her head away. She doesn’t need to tell her in how many positions Anya and Lexa took her the other night.

She loves this about Raven. She loves that Raven can look her in the eye, and see her for everything she is, at the very heart of her—she can see what she needs without asking for it. Abby knows what is hers, who is hers. Raven is hers. Mine.

She sends up a prayer to Jake. She asks him to let her go.

She places her warm lips against Raven’s ear. “Let me.”

A mist of contradictory desires floods Raven’s center—it overwhelms her and she stumbles. Abby’s arm around her waist stops her; a hand comes up and cups her chin.

And for an awful, thrilling few seconds, Abby thinks she might get hit in the face.

Even with years of honing her instinctual impulses and needs, and yeah, her kinks, to suit her own circumstances and not the other way around—she’s playing with fire here and she knows it.

She edges her thigh between Raven’s legs and Raven stiffens, her head falling back against the car roof, swearing softly.

Abby leans back, freeing her from what can only be described as thrall, "Raven. I’m—Jesus—I’m sorry. I can feel you… Let’s start over, okay?”

The confusion and quiet alarm in Abby’s voice is what sets Raven off in a fury—anger that hides her fear as best she can. She runs a hand through her hair, and Abby watches her carefully.

“I'm out of line," Abby says.

“We’re friends, Abby. Colleagues.”

She gently disengages Abby’s hands, which have ended up on her chest, and places them at Abby’s side.

“We’re friends,” She says again so quietly Abby thinks she imagines it.

Raven smells like Abby imagines stars would—like the vastness that surrounds light and thermonuclear fusion interspersed in the vacuum. And she smells like sage, she also carries an undernote of pine and cold moonlight—but it could be Abby just finding what she wants to.

Abby straightens, "Of course, yes. Sorry”

And then before Raven can stop herself, “No, we're not friends."

"Raven, I—"

"I want you.” Raven has to take a deep breath. "Yeah, Abby. You know better. You're fascinating. I meant what I said, I adore you but—Can we just drive? Do you want cookies—?"

Abby comes up to her, closer than even before and Raven thinks that Abby is going to force the issue or worse, embrace her. And she has no idea how she will handle that. Instead, Abby rolls up her sleeve and puts the back of her hand forward and draws it in a slow arc across Raven’s cheek and neck, and her skin feels like it's burning.

“Be careful with me, Raven." 

Abby’s touch, and her magnetic pull, and her low voice feels like magic, like initiatory blood left from a blade. “Cookies sound nice. I’ll be okay going back. Anything else?”

Raven doesn't look away. "No, nothing else."

Abby actually flinches when she into the car, before Raven to get in, and then starts the engine because God, it hurts.

* * *

The last time Clarke and Finn fucked, she immediately rolled off of him and sat up, expecting him to leave her alone or make her laugh or tease her. She wasn’t normal, not with her past, not with her skewed instincts, not with her secrets and not with the dull throb of an evened out, blissfully dulled sex drive.

Nothing about her is normal anymore.

She picks up a pillow and places it onto her lap and pushes her hand irritably through her hair. She barely came. This is how things need to be for her. She won’t be hurt, and she won’t be belittled or pitied for the state of her broken heart—any perceived disadvantages are quickly shelved when she’s in bed. With anyone. And there’s a guaranteed suffocation of any part of her that might break free.

Finn usually knows this. Today he’s being petulant—or even more awful and embarrassing— he’s acting like he cares. “You should talk about it.”

Clarke shakes her head.

“How long has it been? Since you talked to your mom?” It’s a rhetorical question. Clarke and Finn have been in bed together on and off for approximately a week.

“Clarke, you’re going to hurt something.” Her fist swings towards him and lands hard just under his eye. “Ow. Fuck, Clarke. I didn’t mean—“

He grabs her wrist before she can twist away. “Nothing will keep you from her for very long. You know that. Nothing. I’m sorry your dad—”

She listens to him go on and on, and she lists her wounds to herself, all of them, emotional and physical. She catalogs them—all her scars and losses. She leaves Finn immediately, wiping herself clean with his sheets, and not even bothering to shower.

When she gets home, she watches the new crop of bruises splay across her skin. Finn’s uncomfortable with what she asks of him, what she needs more and more of to feel anything at all.

* * *

Raven opened the farmhouse door and saw Abby’s stupidly beautiful face—sadness and confusion pouring off her like a heat signature—and Clarke was leaning against the wall behind her and she wished she didn’t know as much as she did about them.

Clarke and Raven gathered the bags and the newest batch of groceries, helped Marcus, Jaha, and Sinclair find their rooms, and then Raven, Lincoln, Octavia and Bellamy fled. Lexa and Anya stayed behind.

Abby managed to stay angry with Raven, with all of them, for a full twenty minutes and then poured herself a drink and went for a walk.

“Maybe you should tell the class what the fuck is up with you two?” Bellamy clinks his pint glass against Raven’s.

Raven giggles so hard she snorts her drink up her nose, “Everything and more.”

“You don’t even know which one I’m asking about,” Bellamy sighs, his kind, dark eyes gentle. He means well.

“Abby. You’re asking about Abby.”

“Oh, wow. No. I was asking about, in no particular order: Clarke, Anya and Lexa.”

They sit and listen to the remnants of Raven’s good mood go down the drain. And the crackling of the fire in the wood stove.

“No, you're right. It's Abby,” Raven finally says.

Bellamy sighs again and puts down his drink; Octavia and Lincoln watch her like baby bunnies. They look at her with pity, and Raven’s skin almost erupts in hives she hates pity so much.

“It’s how much you can bear, Raven. That’s all it is. For me, it’s how much I can handle by just getting by.” Lincoln says softly and looks at Octavia, who reaches out and squeezes his hand.

A sudden gust of wind rattles the frame of the window Raven’s sitting next to. Her breathing is shallow and audible in her throat.

“We all pretend until we don’t,” Bellamy says, sagely, and refills her drink.

* * *

When Raven’s mother died she had slipped into her hospital room and held her suddenly impossibly frail body.

In silence, she’d watched the morning rise through the slatted blinds, and wash her mother clean with light.

And then she had stood back and let the hospice nurses clean the woman who abandoned her, and she watched them strip the sheets, and go about the business of preparing the room for the next soul.

She’d held the backpack against her chest; the one piece of luggage her mother had brought with her, the one filled with the black market painkillers, opioids that eventually, inexorably killed her.

Raven thought briefly of reporting Nygel to the police and handing the whole thing over to the authorities. She took the bag and the drugs to the small, pitiful funeral, and swore to herself that it would never be her. She had Anya and Lexa.

* * *

“Raven,” Abby murmurs, as they drive back through town and take the two lane out towards the other end of the island. “I’m sorry for pushing you, baby.”

“I’m involved already.”

“Lexa?”

“Lexa and Anya.”

Abby nearly off-roads, and she just buries her face in her hand enough so she can still drive. Raven clears her throat.

Abby had come back into the bar, looking for Raven, and almost doubled over, she had to swallow hard though her need. Her hand scrabbled for the wall, for any kind of purchase, before she collapsed in public. She felt the tidal pull of heat flaring out from Raven from almost three blocks away and hoped, prayed, it was just someone else.

She would be able to sense Raven from across a city—and she’s barely coherent enough to realize just how out of character this is. It doesn’t calm her one bit, when she finds Raven in a similar state.

Abby pulls the car over and shuts off the engine.

Raven is smashed against the door on her side—her skin looks flushed, and her pupils are blown—and her eyes can't focus when Abby reaches out and runs the pads of her fingers across Raven’s jaw.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Raven pulls away. Abby lets her go. 

She smooths Raven’s hair behind her ear, damp and cold and says carefully, “Baby, am I hurting you?”

The concern is real. The endearment makes Raven’s heart stop. The honest desire and care she hears in Abby’s voice makes Raven cry.

She closes her eyes, fighting tears, fighting herself, fighting Abby, and shakes her head. Moments pass and when she opens them again, Abby has started the car and is driving, with the radio on low.

* * *

They get home to a dark house.

“Jesus. Transformer. Basement.”

After a few hours in the vast labyrinth of almost half a century-old wiring, Raven and Sinclair make their way back to the kitchen. The lights are on again and Abby sits gathering some papers together and arranging them in the dim glow of the lamp in the kitchen. 

Raven drops her bag and waves goodnight to Sinclair.

“Thanks for doing that. I don’t think anyone’s bothered with—“ Abby’s voice trails off as Raven sits across from her, and with a confidence that makes Abby’s head swim, Raven takes her hand.

“Why did you come back here?” Raven asks abruptly.

“It was time.”

“Of all the places you could have gone?”

Abby runs her thumb over the back of Raven’s hand, once, twice and thinks for a minute.

“It’s not about Jake. It’s about me—and Clarke. I’d imagine anyone in my position, with my responsibilities, would need a place like this. And I realized I already do. It’s mine. It’s just for me. A great love. And I love what I created here; I love the old library in my lab. Clarke loves it here, too. She was a little girl with oversized glasses, loud, funny, all gangly and clumsy, who barely talked to anyone but her dad and me until she hit puberty. This is more of a gift to both of us than for anyone else.”

“She’s the least out of control or furious person I know—“ Raven says and Abby kind of laughs at that.

“Have you met my child? She disappeared on me for years.”

Raven thinks about this, and Abby is really not sure what is going on at all so she keeps talking.

“What would you do if you spent your whole life being in control, needing to be at the top of your game, never showing weakness or—and then your mother kills your father?“

“Abby,” Raven sighs.

“This land, this house, that lab—it was our family, it was home. It makes me happy.” Abby adjusts her reading glasses. “Clarke’s never been fully comfortable in the world. Being able to open a book, smell the pages, hold it in her hands. Her father’s things, my books—and she’s safe in that. And then she started to draw. And she’s as good at that as Jake and I were good at what we do. Creating something. The smell of the wind and the forest, the beach or the lake where she’s painting or drawing—she associates these things and it makes her happy. There’s a history to all these things for her, her father loved them before she arrived here. Someone will love them again.” 

Raven reaches out and takes Abby's hand.

“Her father and I collected constellations. You’d never be able to tell the full story of how many people got lost in that one collection of notes, and lab reports, how many hands it's passed through—“

“Someone wrote letters to someone else because they read a passage in a book they loved,” Raven says.

“Yes, like that,” Abby answers with the certain, tentative charm that Raven knows is only saved for the people she loves, for the subjects she loves.

She’s seen Abby talk with Clarke. With Marcus and Jackson. She’s seen Abby with patients who come through her emergency room. It’s not personal, and it’s as intimate as it gets.

“Haven’t you ever fucked someone in a lab?” Abby’s expression is slightly hilarious, an extraordinary eyebrow arch, and she looks around like she has no idea who just said that.

Raven takes a minute, breathing steadily through her nose. “Uh—“

“You’re missing out,” Abby recovers like a pro and readjusts her glasses.

Raven rises to her feet and shifts restlessly toward the stairs into deeper shadow. Even though Abby thinks Raven’s recoiling and might run at any sudden movement, Abby gets up and takes a step in her direction.

“Raven. We never have to talk about this again. This doesn’t have to happen. We can talk about artificial intelligence forever.”

Raven moves away for real now. One elbow rests on the wall, and she slides along it, as though she wants to disappear between non-existent cracks in the paint where no one can find her.

Abby can see Raven trying to speak.

“I don’t—” Abby sees her throat constrict and she has to pause. “I mean, I don’t know what to do without them.”

“Lexa and Anya—“

“Abby, I know. All right? I know.” Raven says really softly.

Abby is quiet.

“You know about me." Raven snaps. "Of all people, you know about me—maybe Anya, maybe Lexa, maybe they know too—why would you know anything even before I did? Who gave you the right? I don’t want this. You don’t want this. So why is this,” she gestures weakly between them, “happening?”

Abby waits.

Raven sighs. “You do know what I’m talking about. Tell me I’m not stupid. Tell me you know.”

“I do.”

Abby puts her palms on her shoulders, and Raven nearly faints. Her bare hands are cool on Raven’s overheated skin.

“Abby, please. Be careful,” Raven murmurs.

Abby does what she’s told, “This is your fault.” She smooths her hands carelessly down Raven’s chest—breathing in her richness before deliberately stepping away. Abby turns and closes her book. Some color has come back to Raven’s skin, that she’s breathing normally. Abby gathers her things. She waits for Raven to do the same.

“You look like you’re hungry,” Raven says and then rolls her eyes at how that must sound, “I mean for food. I could eat again.”

“You're hilarious. All that reading and genius. You can always eat. That’s what I like about you. You enjoy food.” Abby laughs.

“Oh.” Raven perks up, “Is that a thing?”

Abby looks at her fondly. “Yes, it is. Not many people enjoy their food. Especially doctors. I've been known to live on Oreos and Ranch Doritos for days at a time.”

“That sounds kind of amazing right now. Let me buy you,” Raven glances at her watch, ”another very, very late dinner."

They head outside. Abby digs for her keys in the porch light. Abby has to think as clearly as she can with Raven so close to her. Raven stands easily in front of her, not touching her, waiting, watching her, her eyes clear.

Abby leans forward and puts her lips against Raven’s temple. She can taste salt, seasons changing, warm sunlight—that particular slant of moonlight just out of reach, tangling in dark branches against an early snow.

“You never looked away,” Abby breathes out and strokes Raven’s cheek with slightly trembling fingers. “When I asked for what I wanted. You’re the only one who never looked away.”

* * *

Pancakes make everything better. 

Later she’ll distract herself; she’ll need the distractions, all of them—whatever she can think of. Later, when there is a whole history of whatever she and Abby are going to talk about. It’ll be the longest time they’ve spent together in the last month, and she already needs the equivalent of white sound, the sound of the ocean and waves breaking in the background.

Because Abby is perfectly right. She’s handling this whole situation with enough humor and goodwill for both of them. There’s no way else to locate a solution that doesn’t wind up with them in bed—maybe syrup and butter will help.

Abby is being wonderful. She has the freedom that comes with just placing her hand in Raven’s as she drives.

There’s some way out of the quicksand and Raven can stop giving a shit about protecting herself all the time from this woman, and just follow this new, extraordinary and familiar person wherever she’s going.

Abby’s formality is still there. But with her hair pulled back in a soft ponytail and her cheeks reddened from the sudden drop in temperature, with a bright blue scarf—she looks like the last thing she’ll do is mock or patronize Raven’s sudden obsession with breakfast food at 3 am on a Wednesday night, the day before Thanksgiving.

 

“That death wave can kiss my ass,” Raven mutters.

“Hm?” Abby is concentrated on getting them down the next dark block and into the diner.

Abby barely notices the change in the wild, atmospheric pressure system striding along next to her, or Raven’s sudden, jealous presumption of ownership.

* * *

“You’re not breathing, Raven.” Abby says. “You might actually taste all that if you breathe.”

"I am breathing. More coffee," Raven says around a mouthful of pancakes.

Abby orders two more cups of coffee and then slides one across the table to her.

Raven puts down her fork and sits back.

"I said something I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. My life is complicated, and you don’t need to deal with any of it." Raven says.

Abby puts down her cup without drinking it.

"I don’t know what happened, Abby,” Raven says, and then fiddles with some sugar packets.

"Why don’t we just get a room?” Abby asks. “One night.”

Raven nods absently and then says, "We could.”

Abby blinks at her a few times, appalled. "Really?"

“No. But that’s exactly what you think of me. I know that.” Raven leans forward and lowers her voice. “There’s a reason I only have two people who know anything, everything about me, okay?”

“Raven.” Abby’s voice cuts through what’s about to become an unnecessary bitch fight. Abby knows Raven would walk out of here, and be gone forever.

"There's a reason I love them, Lexa and Anya," Raven says, and she’s calm again. She’s a little absent; she might as well be discussing stock prices. "It's because no one, no one, and nothing, is going to do to me what my mother did to herself. She died of a broken heart. The drugs just helped it along—"

“I know, Raven.” Abby cuts her off. “I know. I can see how Lexa and Anya protect you.”

“You couldn’t protect Jake.”

Abby sits back like she’s been slapped, all the blood draining from her face for the second time tonight.

"It’s not my fault you got me that night,” Raven shreds the sugar packets, unable to stop herself. “I just have certain—talents. They send me out on the more complicated requests.”

Abby absorbs Raven’s assault and takes it. She disassociates, and then just murmurs, “You said you adore me.”

She works in a hospital. She sees miracles and failures go both ways.

"When did you know?" Abby asks, her voice is a whisper.

"When I met you," Raven levels Abby with a look. “When I met you,”

"But that was—"

“I know what that was. And I know what that wasn’t.” 

When Abby just stares at her, Raven goes back to eating. She looks back up after a while and swipes a napkin across her mouth, making a satisfied noise.

“We’re not that important, Abby. Nothing is.”

* * *

They drive to back to the house in silence. It’s an easier silence than either of them anticipated, and it’s helped along by the heat inside the car, and the meal they just ate, and really, the whole bizarre day.

Abby pulls up to an access gate, and down the small dirt road, and when they stop Raven makes no move to get out. Abby turns off the car and Raven rolls her head from where it rests on the cold window to look at her.

"About—earlier." Abby finally says because Raven has really made herself perfectly clear. Abby needs to make sure she knows she’s still safe. That the people who love her will protect her—that they all need protecting from each other sometimes.

"Don't worry about it," Raven mumbles sleepily. "It's okay.”

Abby rolls her shoulders and stares out into the woods.

“I listen to you when you tell me things, Raven. It’s better that way—anything would be better than what we have now—“ Abby says, sounding a little more heartbroken than she means to. “Go ahead. Go inside.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bellamy leans against Raven’s door and lifts the cup of coffee he has in his hands. She squints open an eye and mutters a “yes, please.”

He sits down next to her as she pushes up on her elbows and leans back, not at all embarrassed by her state of dishevelment or undress. They’ve seen everything of each other; it doesn’t matter. He runs his hand through her hair and untangles it a bit.

“Company last night?” he asks. 

“No, just got in late.”

“Oh, okay. I thought I heard you and Abby. Gina’s got here finally, right after you left the bar,“ He clears his throat, “Good for you, Reyes. Was it fun?

Raven doesn’t know. “Nothing happened.”

“Okay.” Bellamy looks at her with sincere concern. “You know I’m here. Gina is too. Anya. Lexa. Enough of us around, a little trip to the beach, and no one will bother you. You’ll be safe.” 

“I’m fine. I just—“

Bellamy looks at her sharply, “You really think I’m stupid? I’m just suggesting that between the four of us—we can find something to do. I don’t care if it’s making side dishes and yams all day—we’ll make a fucking delicious dinner pre-thanksgiving. I just want you to settle down and not think so hard. All of us, we’re all here now. With beautiful weather. Don’t stay in bed all day.” 

“I don’t know how this works.”

Bellamy shrugs and massages her leg through the sheets. “Not a problem. We can all ignore it. Wouldn’t kill us.”

Even the slight pressure of his hand makes Raven shift uncomfortably, sweat rolling down her back and neck.

Bellamy removes his hand and winces; “You got it really bad, Reyes. Damn.”

Raven laughs softly, “Send Gina in.”

Bell snorts, smiling. Sort of.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Relax, you fucking gorilla. I was joking.” Raven flushes red.

“Clarke wasn’t home when we came in. Neither was Lexa and Anya.” Bellamy says, a little helplessly.

“Bell, we’re all grown-ups. You know that. We’ll be fine, okay?”

Raven stretches her head back and closes her eyes, trying to get herself under control, painfully aware of the hollow ache spreading between her legs and all throughout her body. She slept fine, sated for a pitiful, few hours, exhausted at fighting off the visions and memories of Abby’s voice, her heart. Bellamy gives her a minute.

She’s sure her pupils are completely blown.

“Morning, babe,” Gina appears and sits on the opposite side of the bed. As soon as Gina’s hands move, as soon as they touch Raven’s skin, she’s burning all over again. Her obvious fever is hot and pure and both of her friends look at her with pity. There’s nothing either of them can do. 

“Let me make you eggs,” Bellamy almost yells.

Raven snaps out of her trance, “Oh my god,  _yes._  Why am I so hungry all the time? Ugh. Jesus,” she literally wants to brain him with her heavy coffee mug for even suggesting it when she sees him smile. “You asshole.”

“I’m exhausted just thinking about it.” Gina laughs outright. “How do you even start explaining all this to… whoever?”

“Anya will kill you if you don’t stick to cute and simple terms like ‘boyfriend’, ‘girlfriend’ and ‘crush’. Once I tried to be all up on the terminology and she destroyed me:  _cross-coupling co-primary poly—”_

“Bellamy. Shut up, you dick.”

“You’re welcome.” He pats her thigh, extremely proud of himself and stands. “Clean yourself up. I’ll make everyone breakfast.”

* * *

The cold inside Abby turns to an aching, frantic ice storm during the middle of her morning check-in with Marcus. They do this even on holidays.

She’s never behaved with anyone like she has with Raven, never submitted to anyone else no matter how strong the urge was. She’s  _allowed_  it, paid for it, controlled where and when and with whom she let it happen—but last night was different. Jake had been perfect—intelligent, thoughtful, undemanding, and blissfully headstrong and unconcerned with Abby’s preferences—and she’d loved him. It had been a courtship, drawn out, gentle. This was  _not_  that. 

She never submits to her instincts, to herself, not even when her loneliness forces her to make a call or find and pay for a random, faceless stranger. There’s been no one since him. And now, there’s Raven. Abby is losing her sanity over  _this girl_  and she’s furious.

Sinclair and Jaha flinch in her presence and skid out of her way, scatter as she walks through the kitchen, mid-morning. They cower when she leans across the counter to grab the handful of files she left out last night. She radiates bitchy, steely, bitter control and no one dares to even look at her. Marcus tries to ask her about a drug protocol and she glares at him and says, “What do  _you_ think?”

“Oh,” Marcus says, stupidly. “Ok, where’s Raven? She should know this.”

Abby nods like their exchange makes perfect sense and walks away.

Marcus corners her later. “The fuck is wrong with you?” And then his eyes widen, “Oh shit, spill. Who is it?”

“Shut up, Marcus.” 

“You little  _tramp_.” He grins wider when she refuses to answer him, or look at him. “You want to rip my face off, don’t you? So cute. Just tell me. Was it Anya? She’s hot.”

Marcus hurts himself laughing, and Abby hits him in the nuts with the coffee pot.

“I  _hate_  you.” She hisses. 

“I bet she’s bananas in the kitchen. Did you hear her describe how to brine a turkey? Unreal.”

* * *

Abby hears Raven before she sees her and then curses at herself for not locking the lab door behind her.

She fumbles her notes, unprepared. Raven leans against the door, resting her head against the cool wood. Abby reaches out blindly and cups Raven’s neck. Her hair is wet, her skin running hot and cold, clammy.

“Jesus, you’re freezing. Did you just come back from the beach? Where are the others? Raven?”

“Sorry,” Raven says, slow, disoriented and slurred. “Everyone’s out. Last minute shopping.” She mumbles something about homemade stuffing rather than Stove Top™.

"I love Stove Top™," Abby says, completely serious.

When she tries to raise her head she falls against Abby, her cheek against Abby’s neck. Her eyes are unfocused and blinking against the sunlight pouring through the high windows—her lips wet and trembling. “I don’t—I feel—”

Raven’s breath against her skin is warm and Abby pulls her closer, instinctively protective. And then Raven’s lips brush her shoulder. Raven’s pulse is erratic as hell, and she’s shivering. Abby rubs her palm up and down Raven’s back.

Raven stumbles into the mudroom, tearing at her long sleeved tee shirt, desperate to get the damp after-surfing clothing off her extremely hypersensitive skin. Abby hauls her through the lab and into the bathroom in the back, pushes her into the shower, and turns on the water as hot as possible. She hopes it will decrease Raven’s slight hypothermia, fever, and disorientation. She slips her arms under Raven’s holding her up and steps under the cascade of water, mindless of the scrubs she threw on when she woke up and still has on. Raven rambles incoherently and shudders—vulnerable in her arms. 

It was easier last night, when Abby couldn’t see Raven, with her face buried in Abby’s hair. Raven is beautiful and there’s no way she can keep herself distant and impersonal this close to Raven’s intense, uncanny presence. She's all smooth skin and exquisitely taut muscles; her hard body rippling against her. She holds Raven’s hips and traces her hands against the hollows shadowing the insides of her hipbones—her lean abdomen tensing perceptibly against her fingers. Abby does the best she can to calm them both down.

* * *

Abby picks her up like she’s nothing and lays her down on her bed, naked and weak. Raven’s eyes are wide with anger and embarrassment. Abby looks down involuntarily, to make sure Raven’s fine—it’s a doctor’s instinct—and then fervently wishes she hadn’t.

“It hurts.”

“I know,” Abby murmurs. She drags her eyes away from Raven and focuses just over her shoulder, at the wall, covering her and being very careful to avoid touching her any more than she has to.

“I’m sorry,” Raven says, bitterly. “I need you. I can’t do this alone, without you.”

Abby takes a deep breath, “You expect me to—?” 

“I don’t  _expect_ anything from you.” Raven grits her teeth, baring them at Abby, “I  _need_  you to do this—”

“Okay. I know.”

Abby traces the pulse of Raven’s throat. With one touch she's destroying her own hesitance and practical knowledge of how this should be, how she can safely lead both of them through this and walk away again.

And Raven comes apart. Her breath pours from her in sharp, hard pants. The urge to bare her neck is thrilling and despicable. Raven whines softly in the back of her throat. 

“I hate you.” Raven draws a deep breath

“I know.”

Ungentle hands push the hair out of Abby’s face. Raven lets Abby touch her as she strips off her wet clothes. The gold in Abby’s dark eyes eclipses the dark. She glows with need and care. Raven pulls her down on the bed, eases on top of her, and then sits up, half straddling her, and tells Abby to touch herself.

“No,” Abby says, her desire riding her hard. “You do it. Your hands.”

They’re both spooked. Raven would even welcome a fight if that’s what they needed to do to work this all out, make them feel like they have some control over anything that’s happening. They don’t.

“Sweetheart?” Abby asks, easy and calming. She’s clearly going to avoid whatever fight Raven is planning, and Raven sits back, off-track.

“Uhm, yes?” Raven answers, flummoxed, reality dawning on her. “What?”

“You’re favoring your leg. Did you hurt yourself out in the water? Stand up for me.”

Raven does.

“Walk, honey.” Abby murmurs.

Raven complies. And then sits down just as quickly, subdued, a little scared. She can’t  _really_  handle Abby being kind. Her leg is strong, solid. Working. Abby slips her glasses back on and begins a gentle and thorough examination of Raven’s leg. She goes through motions again one more time, just to be sure, ignoring Raven’s impatience.

Abby smiles and sighs at the same time.

“Raven, when did you lose your sense of humor," she asks, raising her eyebrows. She feels fantastic, fantastic and pleasantly seductive, and amused. “You used to enjoy—this.”

“I know.” Raven gently tugs Abby closer. “This is getting surreal for me, too.” The last part is to herself, but Abby hears her say it.

“Just stay here. You have some bruising on your hip and lower back,” Abby says.

Raven holds Abby’s hand. “I’m okay. It was just rough today in the surf.”

Raven scoots back in the bed, and lifts the covers and holds them up until Abby, after glaring at her, climbs under them. 

Abby runs her hands down Raven’s stomach. She can feel small tremors as Raven responds to her touch.

“My leg’s still sore but—“

“I know.” Abby smooths her hands over Raven’s skin, palpating it mildly.

“Okay. Ow.”

“Lean back,” Abby says.

“Let me—” Raven starts.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Abby says. Then she leans down and kisses her forehead in silent apology. Her hand rests just above Raven’s heart. “Stay here. Sleep. We can wait to figure this out later tonight when you’ve had some rest.”

Abby is naturally affectionate. It drives Raven up the fucking wall. She draws back on the bed. There is nowhere to go and Abby’s hand doesn’t move. Raven tries to think of anything else she can do to gain some dignity back. Starting a fight seems reasonable again; she should do that. 

Abby’s absolute, innate authority and competence is an insane turn-on. Raven admitted that to herself a long time ago, probably the first day she witnessed it in the hospital. She kind of had to just live with it up until now, when all of this was a fantasy, a mirage.

The first thing she’d noticed about Abby was her heart; the second thing she noticed was her compassion. The third thing she noticed was her own unbelievably heated physical reaction to her anytime she was anywhere near her. With her hands on Abby last night, her breath and desire in her ear, she felt hope.

What Abby was doing, is really not that much, but Raven responds to her in a way she’d managed to get under control before now. To deal with any of it, she’d taken up yoga, started rudimentary krav maga training with Lexa, Octavia, and Lincoln (quite a pleasant way to pass time), and gone on long, rambling walks with Clarke and Bellamy. Anya and Lexa had fucked her a few times and then they walked for miles on the beach alone, being near the water (and tacos) soothed all of them.

Raven grabs Abby’s hand and draws it down until it rests against her stomach. “I’m not tired.”

Abby runs slow circles over Raven’s belly, up under her rib cage and back down along her waist, relaxing her. Easing her down and centering her in Abby's touch.

“Please. Both of us need to rest. And I need to start cooking.” Abby smiles, “It’s beautiful back here this time of day. Enjoy it.”

Raven doesn’t want to sleep, “You make me wild. I feel like a kid, you know?”

Abby nods, “I do know.”

Once, a long time ago, Lexa, Anya, and Raven walked down to the beach, just below the cliffs and they’d watched a hurricane come in. They’d stood there for an hour, letting something beyond their control do with them what it could. It had been exhilarating, dangerous. Life-altering.

“I do know how you feel. It’s—” Abby doesn’t finish her thought as she gently extracts her hand from Raven’s grip, and she continues to stroke Raven’s body.

“Oh.” Raven shivers.  _God, Abby._  

“You feel wonderful,” Abby says, quietly. Abby stops the movement of her hand and braces her arms on either side of Raven’s shoulders. She leans over her. They watch each other for a few long moments.

Abby kisses Raven.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Abby asks.

“If you check me over again and keep pretending you’re being professional, I might kill you,” Raven whispers. “I’m cranky and exhausted, or whatever.” 

“You’re beautiful,” Abby says.

Raven rubs her palm over her eyes. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Abby shifts again, positioning her lower body between Raven’s legs in one strong, fluid movement.

“I should let you sleep.” Abby closes her eyes. The feeling is indescribable. Raven’s hips shift, and she opens herself up as Abby stretches out. She draws her arms around Abby’s neck and then traces her hand down the center of Abby’s chest and skims her fingers underneath the edge of Abby’s breasts, running her other hand back up along her spine and through the fine hairs on the back of her neck. This is nice. Slow. They’re talking. This is not impossible and awkward. No one is flipping out. 

Abby reaches between them to undo the ties on her scrubs and brings her naked hips flush against Raven’s. Raven almost loses her mind, then. Abby rises up on her knees and runs her hands over Raven’s chest, her abdomen and between her legs. Raven helps her undo her bra. She slips down the straps and draws them over Abby’s shoulders, but doesn’t take it entirely off.

“Don’t move.” Abby says, her voice sounds tight, “I want you to watch me.”

Abby reaches around and undoes the clasp of her bra, and lets the fabric fall just enough so that the tops of her breast and her nipples are exposed, and they pebble in the chill air, and Raven aches to touch them. With a nod, Abby allows Raven to run her thumbs just past her nipples, not directly over them, never quite touching them and Abby moves in the rhythm Raven sets as she swipes over the same spot again and again. Raven’s hands are warm and calloused. But even the roughness never quite gives Abby the satisfaction she wants.

“Like that,” Abby whispers.

“You need to apologize,” Raven says, settling back. Raven is not at all willing to stop the very obvious effect her hands have on Abby, the way her body responds is exhilarating. Abby’s satisfaction is obvious and blinding and it is the best thing Raven has ever felt. She is in so much trouble.  

“Apologize for what?” Abby asks, quietly.  

“For waiting this long. You’ve made me wait for months.” Raven says, going for casual. Which is complete bullshit? She is anything but casual. She might faint.

Abby doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t protest, and then she grasps Raven’s hands and makes sure that Raven’s thumbs and fingers _finally_ circle her nipples and tug lightly at them. Her whole body is lighting up. Raven, about to say something else, gasps—she feels Abby on her stomach and thighs, and she shuts up. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Abby says, her eyes half open, and glittering in the sunlight—after a long few minutes of falling deeper and deeper into electric, ungentle arousal—and she desperately tries not to come as Raven plays with her, swipes her thumbs over the hardened tips, molding them in her palms gently and then more roughly. Abby’s smell is musk and late fall, she smells like midnight and earth.

Abby looks at Raven, and smiles genuinely, “I do want you. You can't doubt that.” 

Raven never stops the motion of her hands. She covers one nipple and then the other with her tongue and lips—smooth, warm and slow. Abby shivers and moans against her and the pace of her hips speed up. Raven lets one hand slip between them and strokes her into fullness. Raven mimics the same movement with her tongue, teasing and biting at Abby’s breasts, and she gasps and jerks into her.

Abby’s eyes widen. She’s already hard and swollen and Raven slides her fingers through Abby’s wetness.

Raven’s hand shifts to the small of Abby’s back, and Abby swears softly at the loss of contact. Raven pushes Abby away so she can continue sucking Abby’s breasts and cup her ass at the same time. Abby pauses, and Raven stills. She reaches down and wipes at Raven’s eyes with the pad of her thumb, the look on her face soft and solemn. Raven had no idea she was crying.

Abby shifts again, and this time kneels next to her. She cups Raven's face with one hand before drawing Raven’s hand into hers and places their fingers along either side her clit and together they massage her slowly, patiently, as they kiss. Abby's burning and surges against her, the need for release coursing through her body, and it takes Abby by surprise. She's not a hormonal teenager, for Christ's sake. She doesn’t want this to be quick but she might come from just a kiss. It’s possible. No, actually she knows she will.

Abby kisses her again, her tongue running lightly across her lips, asking silently for permission to deepen what has been, up until now, just exploration. Abby releases Raven's hand and settles over her, her arms holding her up so she can see Raven’s eyes.

“Not yet, Raven. Let me.” Abby says into her ear. “Let me wait, okay?”

“Hard. I need you fast.”  Raven asks for it and then she shuts up abruptly, mortified at herself for—

But Abby just makes an approving, loving sound and Raven loses focus when Abby’s teeth and tongue slide down her neck and back up across her mouth into a kiss. Abby pulls back a little to watch Raven unravel. Abby rolls her hips and groans deeply in her chest as she feels her come coat Raven's hand and down her thighs.

Raven whispers to herself, unaware she's even speaking and coaxes Abby forward. She wraps her fingers fully around Abby's clit, caressing it, and moans when she opens her eyes to see Abby staring at her with intense concentration. Raven pauses and runs her other hand through Abby’s hair. Abby’s holding herself up, trembling, vulnerable and focused simply on her and Raven starts stroking again after a few moments and just watches her. 

Abby holds herself still above Raven on trembling arms. She drops her forehead to Raven’s shoulder, and thrusts forward, with an endearing loss of control, into Raven’s fingers. Raven’s legs spread underneath Abby’s powerful, strengthening movements.

Abby is serious and careful again. A drop of sweat drips down her cheek and onto her lip. Raven cranes up to catch it on her tongue.

“Please,” Raven whispers. 

Abby leans her forehead against Raven's and finally, with a long helpless groan reaches down and enters her in one, slow, full stroke. Raven trembles around the thickness and length of three fingers, barely able to handle any of it or her response and Abby waits, letting Raven get used to the stretch despite how crazy she is to fuck her, how Raven's wetness floods over Abby's hand and down her palm and wrist.

“Oh,” Raven gasps. Abby bites down not so gently on her lower lip, drawing blood, waiting.

“Oh  _fuck_ ,” Raven whispers. “What are you—?” 

Abby’s warm, wet tongue dips and skates just past one of Raven’s nipples, and her body utterly betrays her, and she  _comes_. She comes, her inner walls and muscles fluttering around Abby’s hand hard and fast, surprising both of them. She  _literally_  sees stars and loses consciousness for a few moments. Abby brings her back forcefully, insistent. She presses her mouth to hers, and her tongue is wet with silken heat. Abby continues to fuck her, trying to kill her, Raven thinks incoherently.

“Come back. Now.” Abby whispers against her lips, she pulls Raven up into her arms and settles her more firmly on her hand, “Ride me.”

When she comes back to herself a little, Abby looks delighted and smug. And she shifts her hips into Raven again.

“Yes,” Raven says, looking up at her briefly. Raven still can’t speak in anything resembling coherent sentences.

Abby tangles her hand in Raven’s hair and watches her, and she repeats what Raven asked for before, to make sure. "Hard. You want it hard.”

Abby doesn’t wait for an answer—brushing her tongue again just past her nipple, a place Abby discovers is incredibly sensitive for both of them and won't stop torturing—

Raven nods _yes_ against Abby’s neck, and Abby surges against her, stronger than before, as deep as she can go. The ache to be filled and fucked is unreal. Raven shudders violently with grateful, bone-deep satisfaction.

Abby laughs softly, murmuring to her, drawing this out so Raven can feel how wet and ready she is, how wet they both are, how full they are and how much Abby needs to be harder and deeper inside of her—neither of them is alone in this—Abby pulses into her and Raven throws her arm around Abby’s back and begins to plead and whine for all she’s worth.

“Oh, Jesus. Raven,” Abby stills again and pants above her. Sweat covers Raven's chest and neck and Abby draws her tongue over the salt. Raven slants her head and pulls Abby down to kiss her. The kiss is slow and gentle, despite how frantic they are, they taste themselves on each other, and both of them wonder why they waited so long. They kiss as softly as they can and ease each other into an unbelievable state of helplessness. 

Abby barely glides through her for long, hazy minutes until she's shivering again. Raven exposes her neck unconsciously. Abby pauses once more and then strokes right through Raven’s hot, slick folds; harder and faster. Raven tightens and flinches, pushes against Abby defensively without knowing it, at the still unfamiliar feeling of being thrown down and taken. Abby gauges her carefully for any signs that she's panicking, but she's not.

Abby gathers Raven's wrists above her head and slows her thrusts down to nothing—when Raven tries to struggle, needing more, rubbing helplessly against any part of Abby she can reach, and Abby praises Raven’s response, tells her she’s beautiful. Raven loves the restraint, her pulse is wild and thready—she shouts in surprise and relief as Abby hits her upper, sensitive wall every time she pulls out and the deepest part of her when she strokes back in.

Raven doesn’t even recognize herself anymore. The sounds she makes are high and frantic, her mouth buried in Abby’s chest, digging her teeth in and biting at her. Abby whispers anything and everything she thinks of, everything she’s wanted to tell Raven since they met. She’s hazily sure neither will remember anything clearly, afterward. 

Raven surges up, opens her legs wider—her legs spreading and wrapping themselves around Abby’s waist—and she arches up against Abby and against the hand around her wrists holding her still, and begs.

“Do it,” she says fiercely, angry when she's exhausted and spent and helpless because it's driving her crazy that she can't touch Abby. And Abby kisses her, her tongue stroking through her mouth and does what she's asked. She fucks her again and again, and Raven curves upwards, meeting her. Abby finally lets Raven's wrists go with a murmured  _good girl_  and slides her thumb over her hardened, oversensitive clit. This is exactly what Raven wanted. She wants it rough and unsentimental and Abby surprises her and breaks her heart a little every time she buries herself in her.

Abby abandons her clit and wraps her hand around Raven’s neck, gently, in direct contrast to how hard they're fucking, licks between her breasts and sucks in one of her nipples and the sound that Raven makes isn’t recognizable to either of them. Abby’s so close to coming she pushes herself up and off Raven’s body for the countless time, to give herself some relief. Raven can only feel Abby’s tongue and hand where they touch her. Raven barely finds Abby's mouth, blind with pleasure and takes her in a wildly uncoordinated kiss. 

The kiss is so sloppy and amateurish and lewd she starts laughing. She wants to apologize and leave the room and maybe die because what kind of idiot—Abby giggles, and kisses her back, barely making a better job of it. But the kiss deepens into sweetness, surrender, and assurance all at once. They kiss through the whole thing, their tongues sliding together and Abby’s teeth bite down on Raven’s tongue and she sucks on it, tastes blood again, and causes just enough pain that Raven feels herself become even more impossibly wet. Abby won’t let up. 

Raven finds another, hidden way to open herself completely and Abby decides on an easier pace, slower—one where the drag of Abby's fingers, now four of them, leaves her unbearably lonely when she pulls out and wonderfully full when she strokes back inside her. 

“Wait. Baby.” Raven murmurs and Abby stops, fully buried inside Raven. “Don’t move.”

Raven’s strong, young body shakes and strains around Abby’s hand, and Abby feels her take a deep breath as Raven closes her eyes, dropping her head back against the pillows. Raven is stunning at any other time, but she looks otherworldly when she breaks apart, her soft hair falls around her shoulders and over her face. Abby brushes a few strands away from her eyes and kisses her—this time lovingly, a little shyly, with more feeling than she knows what to do with. 

Raven rocks up against her again, and Raven’s cunt flutters around her, drenching her with a silken flood of come. Abby moans and lets loose a string of low curses. They might kill each other.

It feels so good, joined like this, fucking each other in smooth, solid stretches. Hilariously, they lose their rhythm almost immediately, like over-stimulated teenagers and they end up rutting wildly, uncontrollably. Somehow Raven pushes two fingers into Abby’s mouth and Abby sucks at them, tasting her. Raven draws them in and out, fucking Abby’s mouth. and then she wipes them all over Abby’s lips so she can taste everything.

When Abby comes the first time just because  _watching_  Raven fly apart beneath her is,  _God._  She's surprised and  _happy_ and something else. Raven takes one look at her and falls over the edge again, harder, seconds later. She isn’t even embarrassed anymore. Seriously, fuck that.

The pleasure is unimaginable and strange. Raven feels like Abby's breaking things down in her, organizing, digesting, categorizing and assimilating—healing and washing away the separations between them so she remembers and connects to herself and all of her life, again.

After the fourth orgasm, in as many positions, in as many hours (up against the wall, over the chair, Abby’s thighs wrapped around her face—her hands scratching at the wall for purchase, and somehow they manage to land under the bed at some point?) Raven  _really_  can’t talk at all, and she slips down Abby’s body and takes her into her mouth and brings her to a gentle, easy and loving fifth time.

* * *

She passes out afterward. Abby can’t really move either and rests her head against Raven’s shoulder, dozing and murmuring quiet, satisfied sounds in the back of her throat, stroking against her cunt gently, until Raven blinks in surprise when Abby gets out of bed and leaves. What is even going on? Is she— _what the fuck?_

She kind of panics, but really can’t find the energy because her brain melted a long time ago, and when Abby returns a few minutes later with a glass of water, Raven feels stupid. Where would Abby even go naked? It’s her barn, and everyone must be back at the main house by now.

“Hey,” Abby says.

Raven turns on her side and lets Abby slip back in, “Hi.” 

She cups Abby’s cheek and draws the pad of her thumb down from her temple to the pulse point of her neck, the smooth, flushed skin glowing under her touch. Abby feels wonderful. Raven draws her in closer and Abby rests against her, running her fingers absently back and forth over Raven’s chest.

“That felt like a Spacewalk,” Raven says. “We had to do that. It was part of our training.”

“How so?” Abby’s voice is sleepy and warm, a vibration just below Raven’s heart. Raven swallows against a growing constriction in her throat. She won’t cry again.

“I’ve  _loved_  sex, always needed it. Wanted it. Because of—“ Raven almost says their names. “It’s always been good for me, you know? I’ve been lucky. But I live up here.” She taps vaguely at her temple.

Abby turns in her arms to prop herself up and she leans over Raven. She runs her thumb along Raven’s bottom lip, kisses her and says, “You can say their names.” 

“Lexa and Anya. I love sex with them. We’re really good at it, you know? But what I excel at is intellectual and practical problems, equations, math. Physics. Anything in its purest form makes me feel things an orgasm can’t—and yeah, blowing things up and messing around with electrical systems gets me excited—but none of my… clients… ever came close to being in love with them or being taken into the atmosphere like we did during our training courses.”

Raven sits up a little and plucks at the edge of the quilt, “Nothing and no one has ever come close to Lexa and Anya. Or you,” she says shyly, “And I may never experience a Spacewalk again. It’s a once in a lifetime thing…” she trails off, the sadness in her voice sounds like it crushes her, and she can’t look at Abby. If she does, she'll see her watching her with the softest expression.

Raven remains quiet for a long time. Abby draws a strand of Raven’s hair between her thumb and forefinger. She kisses her when she has some control over her emotions, this time to comfort her, letting her know she's present, all in.

“When I was out there, that’s a powerful experience. The NASA program was amazing. I saw the Earth in the simulation, and I had one small tether holding me to the Space Station. The VR tech is amazing, so unbelievably precise. I didn’t even know I would go into this specialty then, that seemed like it was for people more powerful than I was, more powerful than anyone I knew. I would pass those elite research teams in the halls or in the—I don’t know, they never looked at me, and I hated all of them, all their freedom and unilateral decisions, all their money and time to create. I hated the military money and class hierarchies and reporting out and—all of that bullshit— but when I was out  _there—even in the stimulation—_  I loved everyone. I was free. I can’t explain it except that I had a real feeling of love for  _all_  people down on Earth. A personal love.”

“Everyone?” Abby laughs softly.

“Maybe not you. You were probably an asshole?” Raven smiles and kisses the side of Abby’s mouth.

“I was. Jake and I were impossible. Marcus is still unbearable.” Abby says.

“Lexa, Anya and I talk about it sometimes. It was like the molecules in my body, and the molecules in everyone had been made in the ancient generation of stars we otherwise took for granted. The ones we saw every day and outside our houses in the night, all the stars older than Earth. Older than the first signs of life on Earth. And it set me free, and I had a sense of joy and ecstasy that was just mine, but everyone could have it. I would always come back from being out there in the stars and in the vacuum… in my mind. Free of my body and our instincts and what I am, always  _free_ , Abby. It would take me a few days sitting with Sinclair and building useful shit out of practically nothing to ground myself. And then I would go back out.” 

“I can’t fall in love with you, Raven,” Abby says, sounding like she might cry. Raven blushes and looks down at her hands, realizing what  _she_  sounds like—

“I’m talking way too much. Will you say something?” Raven says, shaking. “No. Don’t say anything. Uhm. I’m starving. Can we go make something to eat?”

* * *

The light in the small, makeshift kitchen is only marginally better than anywhere else in the barn. It’s late afternoon, and the sun has shifted, and Abby, after staring blankly at Raven in an old pair of worn borrowed sweatpants and a ratty tee-shirt that hugs every curve and plane of her in a really uncalled for way, forgets to ask Raven what she wants and begins to make them sandwiches.

Raven fucks around with the coffee maker and refuses to look at Abby.

Abby rolls her head back and stares at the ceiling like it will tell her what to say. She has to fix this before it gets very bad—worse than it already is.

“Raven, that came out really wrong. What I said just now—”

“No worries, Abby. I get it. You were just helping me out.”

Abby puts the mayonnaise down as gently as she can (or she'll hurl it at Raven), lowers her head, and asks the simplest thing, the practical thing because she has to get them away from the place where they both hurt.

“You have two lovers, yes?” She already knows the answer to that question; she can sense it deep inside Raven's being. Raven is not only someone else’s, but she’s been claimed and loved and cared for by two amazing women already. She asks so she can playact intractable, let Raven off the hook. This has to be easy for Raven—she has to make it easy for her—she has to let her go.

“Yes.” Raven doesn’t even look at her, she just stares out into the back meadow.

Once Abby gets herself centered, she comes up behind Raven and leans into her. She wraps her arms around Raven and puts her mouth against Raven’s ear.

“I meant that I  _can’t lose you_. I can’t do this again. I loved Jake, and I killed Jake. It was my fault.” Abby rocks Raven gently in her arms; she tries desperately to telegraph her care, her admiration, and her desire in her touch.

But she’s scared. She gets dizzy when she thinks about it. Raven slumps against the refrigerator and just runs her hand through her hair and accepts the sandwich without a word.

* * *

Everyone is busy in the kitchen and very relieved to see them because Clarke is already fucking everything up. Anya looks murderous until Lexa hands her some potatoes to peel. Bellamy beams at them.

“Clarke is an actual bisexual disaster. She can’t cook,” he says.

“She won’t let me make a tuna casserole,” Lincoln says. “I make a great tuna casserole.”

“I’m glad you two worked it out,” Marcus whispers to Abby as he hands her a cup of coffee.

“Ready to roast the shit out of a turkey?” Anya asks.


	11. Chapter 11

“What is going  _on_? Can we tone down the angst in this kitchen a bit?” Marcus asks with a drink in one hand and a bowl in the other, and Anya takes the yams out of his hands before there’s a problem.

“The Griffin family is just... wow." Raven nudges Clarke.

"No, that’s fair. I’ve been out of sorts for a while. I’m really glad everyone’s here,” Clarke nods at her mother, “it’s been nice.”

Bellamy leans over and whispers something in Abby's ear. She tugs at his sleeve and smiles.

“Yes, this is wonderful,” she says at last because everyone has deferred to her after Clarke’s shy concession. Abby is certainly not going to discuss this in front of  _everyone._ “We’ll take a walk later, okay?”

“I’ll show you my secret place. I already told Lexa and Anya where it is. I might as well show you,” she teases mildly.

“Honey, I know where it is."

Clarke sips her whiskey and laughs. “Yeah, it was never that secret. I found some plans you and Dad—“

“You what?” Abby stares at her. 

“You and Dad, your work for NASA. It was a little more than—“

“Clarke, you did not tell me there was a six thousand piece picture puzzle in this house.” Lexa, mildly put out, enters waving a huge box.

“Did too.” Clarke smiles, stretching with a small squeak and pushing back from the table.

Bellamy takes over finishing up the cheese plate. Lincoln wanders over to rearrange what Bellamy has just arranged and demolishes all the gluten-free crackers. 

"Clarke," Abby takes Clarke aside, "what plans?"

“The schematics. You should show them to Raven. Dad was working on Deep Space travel, cold sleep. You both were. And Who’s Rebecca Pramheda?”

“A colleague. You’ve met her.”

“Clarke,” Abby runs her hand over her face, sighs, “please don’t mention this in front of anyone. We can talk about this later.”

“Did Raven even notice? It’s all over Dad’s workspace. Take it down if you don’t want—“

“Wait. Where is this magic puzzle? Oh, my god—can we?” Raven looks up from separating the peas from the stuffing, she hates peas.

“Of course you can.” Abby doesn’t turn to look at her; she just pours herself another glass of wine. “Anya, make sure there’s enough butter, cream and garlic in that—“

Raven glances at the bowl she’s in charge of. “Yes, all those things are in there.”

“But is there enough?” Abby asks.

“Yes,” Raven mumbles, after dumping another half-stick of warm butter in, and then salting it to taste.

“Did you just flirt with me?” Lexa asks very seriously as she leans into Clarke’s space, lowering her voice.

Clarke shakes her head—her eyes sparkling with the heat in the kitchen and her drink, and something else that thrills Lexa.

No,” Clarke says with a straight face, “I just said ‘ _a six thousand piece picture puzzle’_  and look at you now.”

About an hour later, the storm comes. The rain falls so violently that the fields beyond the main gate are obscured in vapor and mist. The weather has been fluctuating strangely all week. Somewhere in the darkness, a heavy door squeaks, footsteps echo in the hall.

Abby rolls her eyes at Marcus, Jaha, and Sinclair as they giggle their way down the steps towards the living room.

“Are you all high? Before dinner? Really?” 

Lexa hums to herself and happily lights the votive candles Clarke helped her find in the attic. 

“Nope,” Sinclair holds a bag above his head, “We found this in Raven’s stuff. We were looking for a lighter.”

“Hey, guys?” Raven feels murderous, and she snatches the satchel away from Sinclair, “Uh, yeah. I have something that might be interesting to all of you—or, you know, my _team_. Someone else can finish the pies if they want.”

Raven plops down next to Lexa and hands her one huge dossier to hold, as she roots around her bag for a second one.

“Ugh, fuck you, Science.” Anya snorts.

“No, this is actually really interesting,” Raven says to herself as she forgets to be mad at Marcus and Sinclair, her excitement building. “I was going to tell you all this weekend anyway.”

She passes a stack of papers to Abby, who takes them and starts through them silently. Raven gazes at her, eyes unfocused and then looks back towards Sinclair and Marcus.

“Ok,” Raven takes a deep breath and smiles, a real one. The last time Abby saw that smile was when Raven pulled her back down into bed with her this morning and kissed her senseless.

“Here we go. I’ve been shadowing Abby, sometimes Marcus for a few months now. No real reason, maybe aimless data-collecting, maybe immersion, maybe to see where the gaps are and what kind of system will be needed to give a network of doctors and patients what they need immediately and efficiently. I saw a kid named Aden with Abby that made me think a life could be brutal and short. Or that life can actually be indifferent to us. That’s frightening to me.”

Lexa tries to catch Abby’s eye. Anya stares unseeing out the window.

“There was a boy in Trauma a couple of weeks ago,” Abby murmurs, “his name was Aden.”

Raven lowers her eyes before continuing, “Aden could have—Aden was me, Lex. Anya. Aden was me before I found you both. Before… well, before.”

“That was the kid we went to see?” Anya asks, quietly.

Raven nods but doesn’t look up. It takes everything Abby has not to take Raven’s hand. But the woman she knows she’s falling in love with isn’t even in the room right now. Raven defenses aren’t there at all, she’s simple and vulnerable and who she is shines far brighter than even Abby could have imagined.

“Yeah—we went to see him. I picked up an old microscope at the flea market along the beach. Remember, you guys? I had one growing up, and we set up a lab under a blanket fort in the kitchen, I set the whole lab up and examined everything with that microscope I just it. And when it broke I made a new one.”

“I remember that,” Anya smiles. Anya is watching Raven with so much love Clarke doesn’t think she should be anywhere near these three. There are things that aren’t for her.

“I showed Aden where to put his eye, how to focus and adjust the lens. I watched him, thinking this is how we attach to existence, to someone else, to life…” Raven trails off, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

“So I thought—I thought that’s the model of interconnectivity we’re going for, really.” Raven says, “A very basic connection between us and all our messiness and a Consciousness that if not exactly sentient is built by us – people trained to think logically and building in multiple safeguards in our designs. I mean, we’re ridiculous and flawed, actually—but a network of information—even if it just mimics what we think is compassionate, based on ‘Do No Harm’—we may have something.”

Abby looks up from the pages in her lap at Marcus. “She’s right, and she’s sketched out the basics here.“ She taps the page. “Can you and Sinclair build this?”

“Yes,” Sinclair says, taking the crumpled papers and spreading it out on the table, smoothing them with his hand, with all the ketchup stains and coffee spills, “Eventually. We can idiot proof it.”

Raven smiles. “Have you considered that? We have autonomous bits of intelligence already available for data collection, user interface. We’d just be—we’d have to take it out of the lab and open-source it. We can’t do it otherwise. Artificial Intelligence, like your describing, just doesn’t exist.”

Marcus sighs, not happy but not dismissive, “So you want _everyone’s_  consciousness working on this. All Abby and I need is a faster way to diagnose and aid in medicine. We want simulated situations with the best possible outcome at our fingertips in seconds.  No one signed on for—” 

“No one will extend our funding if we open-source this. We’d have to start poaching… go back to what we were doing before Raven came on…” Jaha’s tone is sharp, unimpressed. He’s  _really_ unhappy with Raven, and he’s not happy at all with their disinterest in where their funding comes from.

“So? What if we did?" says Raven. "Jaha, I don’t get it. Isn’t this the charter of our work? That’s why I signed on. ” 

“You have never understood one very clear thing about your employers. Money. Money and state security,” Jaha snaps, and Abby can’t remember a single moment in the last few years that Jaha has lost his bearings but it looks like he’s about to. “I don’t remember anything beyond those two factors, donors don’t understand anything like that either or know what to do next. We have the entire military and intelligence community waiting for our results—”

Abby touches his wrist. “Are we so sure that our… _employers_ know what to do next? Jake and I knew years ago and we have the groundwork laid out—but Raven and Sinclair are the only two out of all of us that can make anything happen.”

Sinclair’s usual softly eager smile is gone. He looks worried. Jaha is making him very nervous, “Thelonius, come on. This is not what we agreed to. You gave us complete autonomy—“

“I gave you autonomy up to a point. I have no authority to let you release this to the public. The Agency won’t allow it. They will not let this go to the private sector. They’ve spent billions of dollars poaching from all the big—“

“I’m hungry, guys,” Lincoln pokes his head in.

Clarke grunts, doubting that this is the end of the conversation. She fervently wishes she was outside under the stars with Lexa and Anya again, even in this storm. She misses her father—this was his work, too. Seeing it spark and flare in Raven is weird, to say the least.

Jaha rubs his eyes. “I don’t even know what has to be done. We can’t do anything without funding. We cannot open-source this.” He’s repeating himself, which means his way off-balance, “The Farm has too much of a stake in this. We work for state security, we work for surveillance technologies. Folks, the endgame is cryogenics, not—” 

"What?" Abby says, "Thelonius, what are you talking about?"

"I'm saying, Abby," Jaha clenches and unclenches his hand in a nervous, unconscious tic, "The only reason we have a project at all is that the Agency needs an A.I. Our colleague Rebecca Pramheda is working in tandem with your findings, Raven—one A.I. is a neural implant, the other is an anti-radiation serum for deep space missions to protect against solar radiation. Hypersleep, folks. That’s all this is. We needed the medical communities information dump. We have it. We'll lose all our work if you—"

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Raven glares at Abby and Marcus. “Did you know about this? We were all in total agreement:  _A quantum platform would have access across multitudes of similar patient histories and protocols in seconds, along with thousands, millions of clinicians’ medical knowledge to draw on. Instantaneous assessment with an almost perfect percentage of diagnostic power._ ”

“No one knew about this, Raven.” Sinclair says, quietly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

“You're being naive,” Jaha says. "There's nothing but private money in the medical field. The only reason we have a project is because of the NSA and the CIA. Don't fuck it up. When did you all get this naive?"

"When were you going to tell us this, Thelonius? Jesus Christ." Marcus puts his head in his hands. Sinclair looks ill.

“No, it’s real,” Abby murmurs. “It’s already happening. Thelonius, what have you done, What's Rebecca doing? I know her, we went to school together—she wouldn't—”

“Mom, you and Dad’s work… that was insane. Remember?”

“Yes, it was,” Abby says. “Grad student bullshit.”

Raven laughs, “Yeah, but Abby, that’s the thing. The ideas you and Jake  _played around_  with are genius, you created a working AI in the backyard here, on a bunsen burner, you fucking hippies.”

Blatantly ignoring Jaha, she leans across Abby and plucks a piece of paper out of the piles next to her, “Here’s the problem—we have cheap, shoddy existing infrastructure programs in hospitals. They can’t keep up with even the most basic data-shift between institutions, or departments. You can't implement anything keeping donors happy with what they pay for. You can't get the types of data you need outside the older infrastructure model—it’s impossible.”

Sinclair shakes his head. “ _Yes, it is possible_ , because older hospital software is really just that fucked up,” he nods at Abby and Marcus, “Open source is the way to go.”

Marcus actually snorts, “Who has half a billion dollars?” 

“Our military, the sponsors of this project. Your bosses.” Jaha says, pretty sharply.

"That wasn't what we signed on for." Marcus says, quietly, his expression blank with anger.

* * *

“Mom, can I talk to you?” Clarke says as everyone files back into the kitchen. Jaha looks furious. So does Abby.

Clarke stops in front of her mother and slips her hand through her mother's. “You said a long ago that you were sometimes able to… to ‘dream’… about your patients while you were still awake. A sort of trance state?” 

“Something like that.” Abby relaxes slightly; her eyes are warmer, remembering.

“Have you told Raven?” Have you told her how often you do that?”

“No, it's sporadic. It might not work,” Abby says, “The models Jake and I created came out of a dream state… why would I tell Raven that?”

“You mean you were stoned,” Clarke laughs. “Come on, you have nothing to lose.” 

Abby nods and closes her eyes.

She’s aware of the faint smell of lavender and rain, of the turkey roasting in the oven, of the echoing space and the forests and tidal pools surrounding them, the ocean just beyond. Every time she does this, she’s sure that it won’t work; even when she knows the landscape of her dreams is always close enough to touch. She remembers Raven taking her hand and the desert night coming alive around them.

Clarke tugs at her hand. “You’re the dreamer, Mom. You’ve found your scientists and engineers, but you’ve always been the dreamer.”

“Did Jake tell you?” 

“Yes,” Clarke says softly, “He said you were right all along. The planet is some kind of organized intelligence. It's very different from us. It's had billions of years to create a slow-moving mind made of oceans, and rivers, and rainforests, and glaciers. It's becoming aware of us, as we’re becoming aware of it.” 

Abby sighs and closes her eyes, “I don’t know how the planet can stand us, and we’re not even as intelligent as a goddamn worm and this is a dreaming planet. But the world has a feeling towards us, wants to love us. The earth is an immense, strange, wise, old, neutral, weird thing, and it is trying it’s best to figure out why we haunt its dreams, and why everything is out of balance.”

* * *

After dinner, the rain stops, and patches of sun burst through, and they take their coffee and pie out to the porch, all of them wrapped in blankets and sweaters. Abby and Clarke light the braziers, while Bellamy sees to the fire pit. It’s almost 3 pm and there’s still light left in the day.

The conversations are easy after the slightly explosive back and forth before dinner; no one wanted to fight at the table. Raven leans against Anya’s legs and she wraps Raven up in a blanket and settles back in her chair, her hand stroking softly through Raven’s heavy, soft waves of hair. She has Raven almost purring and drifting—both of them only half-listening to the murmur of voices around them.

Raven hears Abby’s warm, soothing burr as she talks quietly with Marcus and Sinclair. Jaha stands with a cup of tea against the railing listening.

“That’s what we figured out. Networking millions of independent micro-tech, each with its own mindless job moving information around—nanotech the size of a neutrino, communicating with one another, and if you have an army of programmers and engineers overseeing it there could be small autonomies—“

She senses Jaha nearby. She can hear Lexa’s eagerness when she talks to Clarke. She can practically feel Clarke discovering that she might want to know what Lexa’s voice sounds like against her ear. She’s almost dozing when Clarke suggests a walk down to the ocean.

* * *

It’s Lexa who discovers an extremely bizarre trace of something all the way at the end of the beach. It’s a kind of ribbon made up of little twists in the sand. She calls them over and they all slowly follow the trail, trying to understand how delicate the marks are.

“Do you think this trail might just stop somewhere?” Clarke asks Lexa. 

Lexa reaches for Clarke’s hand, “Like, whatever it is might want to keep it secret?”

At the moment, the hesitant writing of the mysterious trail is a sign of the world’s grace. It goes on for another ten yards. It’s a simple thing. Finally, they spot a little shellfish quietly making its way with uncertain steps.

“Okay, you guys. In proportion to its size, that hermit-crab has just covered the equivalent of two thousand kilometers in a desert,” Anya says, “Why isn’t it going into the water? It’s right there next to him, he’s parallel to it when the tide’s out.”

They watch it for a long time until Clarke can’t take it anymore. She picks up the animal, and it quickly folds itself up into the bottom of its shell, and she places it carefully into shallow water.

They wait. Soon it moves again, incomprehensible, indifferent to the miraculous rescue.

Lexa trails her long fingers in the sand; counting under her breath to Anya how many whitecaps she can see. They talk about the ungrateful crustacean’s imagined joy, now entirely absorbed back into the sea.

Clarke feels her heart do something odd. It’s beating on its own, and she notices it for the first time. She’s walked this beach since she was a kid, a thousand times at every hour of the day. She’d known exactly what kind of animal left that kind of trail in the sand. But she watches Lexa, and she sees Anya. 

She knows she won’t be able to close her heart off again, to anyone, and especially not to these two. And suddenly even the remnant of the storm’s cold wind feels strange and warm on her skin—and Clarke resists the need to apologize for not recognizing Lexa that first time. For making her wait so long. She has the brief, terrible sensation of losing control, and being grateful for it.

* * *

When they head back to the house there are so many stars that the sky seems black pasted over a silver source. The same lights spread over the city, invisible.

“Thelonius, everyone. I need to show you something.” Abby places a box of news clippings— schematics, doodles, pages and pages of mathematical notations, old photos of her and Jake, a very young Clarke—down on the table. “I want you, Thelonius, especially you— to see this.” 

Jaha picks up the first page he sees and reads it aloud,

_Associated Press_

_October 20, 1998_

_Syndicated dispatch_

_PARIS, (AP) Eligius Mining & Infinity Company, Ltd. (TSE: 4589, “Eligius Mining Company”) announced today, artificial intelligence technology (henceforth, AI) which provides an appropriate mission of applying technology to transform the retail experience customers can now use natural conversation as they shop online via an intuitive, dialog-based recommendation engine powered by Fluid XPS and receive outerwear recommendations tailored to their needs._

_“The retail industry, like many others, is flooded in structured and unstructured data -- from social media to text messages to customer reviews. By tapping into AI, retailers have the power to turn this data into meaningful insights that can user experience more intuitive, informed and enjoyable," said Rebecca Carlson, Eligius Mining Company, Ltd VP Business Development & Partner Program. "Market leaders understand how cognitive technologies can redefine how brands connect and engage customers.”_

_AI provides appropriate work orders based on demand fluctuation and on-site activity derived from big data accumulated daily in corporate business systems, and its verification in logistics tasks by improving efficiency by 8%. By integrating the AI into business systems, it may become possible to realize efficient operations in a diverse range of areas through human and AI cooperation._

“Sure,” Thelonius says, “of course I remember this. You and Jake were the epicenter.”

“It was cute,” Marcus squeezes her shoulder.

Clarke takes another clipping out and skims through it.

_The New York Times_

_Friday, July 11, 2012_

_A prominent researcher, whose identity has not been released, was shot twice at his home, placed in his car and sent over a cliff._

_The researcher has been linked to most cutting-edge research on record concerning Artificial Intelligence. His affiliations with scientific groups, particularly privately funded Infinity Core, Ltd. and numerous universities and labs around the world, are extensive. Other researchers, scientists, and known associates have declined to comment._

_In the past few days, those acquainted with him have described him to reporters as pleasant, soft-spoken, courteous, well-dressed, and seen in the company of a young dark haired woman who’s been identified as an acquaintance. She has been confirmed to be out of the country at the time of the alleged murder. Authorities have indicated there was no charge against her and she was wanted only for questioning._

And Abby begins to talk, standing apart, turned away and with a glass of wine forgotten in her hand.

“That was dad? You and dad were targeted,” Clarke half-whispers. “Jesus, Mom. I thought it was—“ 

“It will happen again, Abby.” Jaha’s voice is surprisingly gentle. “Everyone came after you because you wanted to open source this thing. They got to Jake. Eventually, they’ll get to you—if you go with what Raven’s suggesting now. For interested parties, this is worth killing over.”

Marcus nods, without looking at Raven, “If you do this, it’ll be like Jake all over again—like it’s been since—you’ll be hunted. At least let us reinstate the security detail.”

"I'm just trying to protect you, Abby," Jaha says. 

* * *

Most of them leave the next day. Lexa, Anya, and Clarke stay and make breakfast. Marcus and the rest need to go brainstorm next steps now that Thelonius has made things perfectly clear. Jaha needs to explain to his board why his team has suddenly possibly gone rogue, and hire an entire small army as security. Raven’s thrown them for a loop. It’s uncomfortable, probably means Raven won't stay with them, and clearly, some war-room discussions are needed. Abby is furious.

Abby sees them off, patting Marcus on the ass—pretending she’s not terrified that Jaha will shut this all down and she'll lose Raven—and then she turns to look at Raven standing in the doorway, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and a warm sweater and hat skewed on her head, hair framing her face and eyes, and thinks she’d probably like to stay pitched up on the beach of this world a little longer, with this woman. At least, maybe they could talk about something simple like the ethics of medical diagnoses—and not possible murder and chaos—and stay here, forever.

They put on coats and walk a bit out into the fields again in the bracing air. The temperature has dropped, and snow is falling. A white dusting gathers around the farmhouse clearing and back into the fields. Abby has the thought: run, while you still can.

“Clarke showed Anya and Lexa her secret place,” is what she actually says. “It’s the lab. It’s always been. She misses Jake.”

They walk in silence, in one another's footsteps in the new snow. 

“Why did you change your mind about the project?” Abby asks, “Why the sudden tack in focus?”

“It was always the plan—I did my homework. I read about your work, about Jake’s work. The original roll-out plan. Both of you wanted it divorced from government and military patents. Sinclair has been waiting for the word from day one.”

Raven’s breath comes in white, frozen puffs against the snowy air. “It’s Jaha—even with all his goodwill and gentleness—even Jaha wants this patented, and lucrative.”

Raven stops and opens Abby’s jacket. She reaches for the necklace around Abby’s neck, the one that she’s never touched, never asked about. Jake’s ring.

“You loved him, Abby. More than you’ve ever loved anyone. You guys were going to change the world. He was killed for it. You barely made it out alive. You’ve been under surveillance for the last few years.”

“How do you know that, Raven?” 

Raven continues, almost murmuring just to herself, “It’s not that hard to figure out, is it? False names, no real private life. You sent Clarke away, didn’t you? You made it impossible for her to want to be around you.” 

Abby nods.

“Our,  _your_  work needs to be open-sourced,” Raven says, softly, “What’s the most exciting thing that happens when you’re a kid? A kid like Aden. Like me. You realize that there are other people, minds, completely separate and different from yours, and you’re not alone—and you can have a conversation, or hold someone’s hand, build empathy and perspective. That’s how you build a soul. That’s what you, me and Marcus want to create with this. A networked mind, where no one has to be alone.”

Against the black of the woods, she measures Abby's every shift in mood. She bites down on the inside of her cheek to stop from saying anything else. It’s too raw. They understand each other too deeply.

They stand under the snowfall, in the quiet hiss and muted world around them, and then turn and retrace their path back to the house.

She stops and tugs Abby around to look at her, “There is something like chance, Abby. Miraculous chaos.”

“I know, baby,” Abby whispers.

Raven pulls Abby closer and kisses her, tongue silk and warmth against hers.

“When Aden took his eyes away from the microscope lens he looked at me and cried, Abby. I don’t think he’d ever imagined anything like it.”

* * *

They return to the house, to a roaring fire, and spread themselves around the living room, and sleep or talk quietly. Abby wakes to soft conversation on the couch next to her. Lexa is speaking low to Clarke, both of them using what Raven recognizes as their real voices—easy, deeper, relaxed, tentatively familiar. They’re laying out the foundations of a shared new alchemy by talking about ordinary things. Raven lies awake listening and drifting.

On the windowpane, thick flakes have been collecting for hours. Raven enters from the kitchen with a plate of leftovers. Abby sees her put her hand to the cold glass, leaving a pale, smoky outline against the frost when she draws away. Abby’s mind is nicely blank.

Abby daydreams about forever, long evenings, perpetual winter, maybe some fall and spring, passing around Agatha Christie novels, building a family together. A family that smells like smoky spruce logs and coffee and waffles in the morning. 

Raven sits down with her back to the couch, between Abby’s legs, exhaling with exasperated pleasure. "You always feel good.” 

Abby reaches down and tugs absently at Raven’s hair, “We have to figure out how to sell this in a way that Google hasn’t thought of yet—their AI program/Deep Mind has more funding than God. Jake's model isn’t formidable as you think. It was just creating a system of checks and balances that moves at quantum speeds.”

“Mm. Not a big deal. Decisions based on past, present and future decisions yet to be made." Raven yawns. “Nothing to be excited about.”

Lexa rolls her head on the couch to peer at them. "Who's up for that jigsaw puzzle?"

Clarke pulls up chairs around the enormous, scattered thing. Lexa is almost fainting with pleasure and is the first one to sit. Clarke leans forward to place a piece then heads towards the kitchen for more snacks.

"Think of it like, a really compassionate lab technician that does all the bullshit, boring daily work. We aren't bestowing any new characteristics on the set of data—we're depriving it of memory loss—with access almost everything in the world."

"Why did Jaha react like that?"

Raven shrugs. "We already talked about this. There’s no money involved. The DOD has us in lockdown. They never even told us what we were really working on."

"Jaha isn’t like that."

Raven smiles. "Sure," she says. "For the time being. He just basically stroked out when we proposed an alternate project and I kind of don’t blame him."

"Raven, he didn't tell us the truth, this is—" Abby shakes her head helplessly. "That proves my point. All of us can handle different levels of risk. But Thelonius, underneath his relaxed, laid-back act, has been in freefall—extremely volatile—since he lost his son. I love him, but he’s after a god-mode. He’s not in it to help people. He wants to make a fortune and get the fuck out. Start an ashram."

"And he doesn’t understand what it is you do every day. He’s an engineer. Were you watching him last night? Dude got very uptight and had to go smoke a bowl. Abby, you write the code every time you examine a patient, every time you make a snap decision in the face of a million ways something could go. You, Marcus, and Jackson—any doctor—knows what effect a change to a given parameter would have in a life and death situation. But the only way of determining the overall outcome of our project is to let the source code free."

Abby leans forward under her quilt. "We can build a biosphere/ecosystem of information. If we want to name it AI, then we should do that—" 

Lexa works steadily on the jigsaw, humming to herself while listening, aching to jump into Raven’s conversation and ask questions, help, but knowing better than to risk involvement. Anya wanders over and sits down next to her, infuriatingly good at puzzles. She places several pieces in less than a minute as Lexa glares at her. Then Clarke sits down at the table. She concentrates for a bit.

"Tell me where this piece with the two stupid end things goes." She waves Raven and Abby over.

"Do you have an ethical problem with the project?" Abby asks Clarke, a little too casually.

“Not at all. Doctors could be artists. And surgeons already have god complexes. They could also use a huge mindset shift into perspective taking and presence. You guys are kind of insane.”

Abby snorts.

Raven bursts out laughing. "All we've done to date is uncover part of a pattern—there are as many patterns as there are doctors and patients. We can't mistake that for meaning or consciousness."

She sits down and starts fucking around with a particularly annoying section of the whole thing that Clarke has just decided to avoid.

Lexa looks up. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

"Yes."

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Abby asks.

“Because Jaha wants something different. And he would have stopped us immediately.”

“Well, good job, because he’s really angry now,” Anya says without looking up.

Abby sighs, puts her reading glasses on—and leans over Anya’s shoulder. Without speaking, Abby begins to match Anya’s pace. They have the whole section done in less than ten minutes.

* * *

Several hours later, Raven and Abby finally finish another area of the puzzle and the third bottle of wine. Everyone has drifted away from the table, even Lexa. Raven sits back with a sigh and rubs her eyes.

"What is it?" Abby asks.

"I've been hearing things from my—from my friends, other escorts—for the last several weeks. Questions about you."

Abby’s not ashamed, and this kind of backroom maneuvering should be expected in a politically charged, high-profile area of research. Still, no one needs the press. Or the bullshit that comes along with being exposed in this way. She can guarantee most of their funders are into some pretty badass kink themselves but if someone wants her gone or discredited a game of chess she doesn’t want to play.

"No one will talk, Abby,” Raven says, “Confidentiality is absolutely critical. No one gives out information about a client. We’re all screened, escorts and clients—I’ve told you this. We have to be, there are royalty, aristocracy, and heads of state involved. It just doesn't happen. My friends know, but they only know that I do it on the side because it's so lucrative. No one's approached them. Yet."

"You’ve slept with royalty?" Abby asks before she can stop herself.

"I don't know." Raven shakes her head. "We’re not supposed to know anything about clients. That’s impossible—everyone has a tv."

"And?"

"Because they're asking questions about you. And me. And this project. We're compromised already. And the place I work? Things like this do not happen. I mean, hypothetically, if one of my clients was the president… this just doesn’t happen."

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll be losing funding anyway. Who cares if anyone finds out what I do in bed.”

“Abby, listen to me. Whoever they are—they know who the escorts are. Let’s assume they have the client lists."

“So you’re warning me?”

“Yes. I don’t care about me. Tomorrow, you take every piece of your work out of that barn and you burn the barn down. I don’t care what else you do but protect your work, at all costs. Stop discussing it beyond people you absolutely trust, okay?”

"It's Clarke's as much as it is mine. I'll talk to her in the morning. It's the only things she has of Jake's." 

Raven gazes at her and then nods once, decisively, "Promise me."

"I will. I'll talk to her."

* * *

It doesn’t surprise Abby, and it never really will, that when she wakes up in the late morning Raven is gone.

And it’s not shocking when she opens the door to her lab and sees that her notebooks, all of Jake’s notes, are gone and her hard drives have been ripped away. She wonders absently, emotionless, what stopped Raven from burning the whole structure down entirely.


	12. Chapter 12

“I was wondering,” Anya glances over from the driver’s seat, after an hour of relative drowsy peace in the car, “if you’d get a drink with… us.” From the back, Lexa rolls her eyes and wants to sink through the bottom of the SUV and roll off into the woods that line the highway. Clarke just watches Anya curiously.

“What?” Clarke asks.

“I really don’t like bars,” Anya says. She leans forward in her seat, adjusting her down coat around her shoulders, all while driving with one knee. She looks at Clarke carefully before staring back out at the road. “But I would hazard the crowds if you said yes to a drink.”

Clarke just blinks at her.

“No? How about a cup of coffee? We can crochet together.” Anya asks.

“With both of us. She’s asking you for both of us.” Lexa clarifies easily enough. She smiles with the corners of her mouth, though not with her eyes, oddly ready to be hurt—expecting it. “It’ll be like the walk we took. You’ll survive. You might even have a good time.”

“A good time?”

“Yeah. Like the walk. In the woods, yesterday. You had a nice time.”

* * *

_They had strolled out along the fire road with a view of a fleet of fishermen trawlers lights reflected in the black pool of the bay._

_“I remember mom telling me about coming up here to make out with Dad when they were just married.” Clarke had said._

_Lexa’s boots gave her a swinging stride, though they kept slipping on smooth spots._

_Lying in the meadow and bundled up in their sweaters, Clarke pointed out Orion and the Pleiades. They could smell the storm coming. The air had changed._

_“Anyone want to make out right now?” Anya asked. Clarke had laughed hard and then leaned over and kissed her gently, thoroughly in the fading light._

_Maybe it was supposed to be a terrible idea. Or great. Or maybe she had no idea._

* * *

“You mean before everything went to shit? I...” Clarke spins around and stares at Lexa, “I left because I had to. My dad as dead.“

“You ran away,” Lexa points out, “from your mom. When things got tough, you ran. You don’t really get a say in anything when you pull shit like that.”

“Abby didn’t kill your father, Clarke,” Anya says after a minute of silence, incredibly gently.

“And now your mom's found Raven,” Lexa’s now glaring openly at Clarke, “Abby has exceedingly good taste. Leave that alone.” 

“Raven ran this time, didn’t she.”

Anya says absolutely nothing, just changes lanes extra dramatically.

“Do you do a lot with astrology and stuff?” Lexa, echoing a long ago question and unfinished conversation, asks after another few minutes of fraught silence.

Clarke thinks about it seriously. “I do. But my boyfriend in college, he’s dead now....”

“You’re a fantastic conversationalist,” Anya laughs, "Does everyone in your life die?"

“Sometimes I am,” Clarke snorts. Lexa waits politely a few minutes again, but Clarke doesn’t say anything else.

“But there must be something to it.”

“Never really thought about it,” Clarke says, a blatant lie. “Mom said I was the only one in our family with an ancient soul. She said I’d been around a long time. Like pretty much since the beginning of time.”

Lexa doesn’t look at her, she looks out the window, her eyes on the stars. “I don’t know where Raven is,” is all she says.

“I don’t think Raven does either.” Anya murmurs.

As they drive through the night, warm and the radio on low, Clarke rocks her head back and laughs at the two of them, “God help her when Mom finds her.”

“MMmph.” Lexa glances at her phone, “guys, O. wants to stop for a Happy Meal. Bell wants a Big Mac. Lincoln wants a salad.”

“McCafé® Strawberry Shake, babe?” Anya puts on the blinker.

“Sounds good.” Clarke and Lexa answer at the same time.

* * *

She’s not far from the house when they come to intercept her. She’s already uploaded what she could to the Dark Web. There's a strobe of flashlights around her. The trees are wet with frost and early moss-covered birch glowing brightly in the early evening, and the ground soft and slick with ice. And then she's hauled forward and pushed and pulled along through the woods. She’d trained with these assholes. The least they could do is say hello.

The time wears on and they get further away, down the coastline, around to the other side of the island. There’s no movement on the water or spit of land they’re standing on; there’s no moon or stars to mark them.

* * *

Abby wakes stiff, with a searing headache.

She wakes to gray skies and the sound of the ocean. She sheds the soft, wool blanket and walks out onto the front porch and around the back property towards the old barn. Marcus is gone; the last of them to leave and she promised him she would be back within the next 24 hours—on the late ferry—and that was all Abby could tell him.

Her phone rings. She pauses in the frost-covered field, takes a deep breath and answers. She’s alone now, she knows that, and so disassociated that she can see herself hunkered there in the cold light, listening to the sea, barely paying attention to the call. It’s a recorded message—one she’s heard so many times she has it memorized. If she was following along to what it said, it doesn’t show. If she cared, it doesn’t show either. She just gazes out on a milk white horizon.

She doesn’t even notice that the message ends, or how long she stands there. The fog and drizzle move slowly enough that it’s startling when she finally does realize that she can’t see five feet in front of her anymore. But she feels less solemn, less haggard. All of her guesswork was correct. The long, lonely years—the long game she’s played—is finally done with.

* * *

Abby pours herself a glass of wine as soon as she’s through her apartment door. Then another. Wine, she thinks, will at least make the last 48 hours somewhat more tolerable. Marcus is already calling, and four drinks later Abby finally picks up.

“It’s okay,” Marcus says, “it’s alright. We always knew Jaha wasn't onboard the Peace Train. That’s not what you and Jake—“

"I know," Abby mutters. "God, I know. Okay? It’s just… not great when your friend loses his fucking mind."

“You thought we were all in this together. He’s been different since he lost Wells.”

“I was banking on Thelonius remaining an idealist.”

“He is. Even worse, he’s an evangelist. And he wants to make a fortune.” Marcus pauses and takes a deep breath, “You want me to come over? Watch something? Chinese? We can talk about contingency plans later. We can talk about Raven again. That’s a thoroughly pleasant conversation. I love Raven.“

That makes Abby laugh, “I do too, you know? Yes, Come over. No, we’re not talking about Raven.”

* * *

Clarke corners Lexa in the kitchen of the loft, her eyes bright with McFlurries and Happy Meals and a 7-hour road trip texting with Octavia.

"I can’t really handle either of you," Clarke says, which is actually the truth. Love was kind of crazy, which Clarke knew of course, but nobody told her to what extent. She’d loved Finn. Not like this. Whatever this was. Octavia and Clarke tried to figure that out all through Connecticut.

She told herself that it was no big anything that she just hadn’t taken Lexa and Anya up on the offer when they asked her if she wanted to be dropped off at her place. All the way across town.

So, now seems like the best time to tell both Anya and Lexa that being apart from them for more than a few hours might put her in a state of withdrawal.

"You overdid it on the ice cream," Lexa says.

"I don't—"

"Go on a date with us. I know it’s horrible to ask you to go to a bar, but I want to do this the old fashioned way. Chill neighborhood watering hole first. Then, next week—I’ll make you dinner."

“She makes an excellent paella,” Anya calls from the other room.

* * *

Clarke leans against the bar with her elbows because everything feels just a little off balance. She's been anxious, her stomach really twisted with fear and need. And now she’s just drunk enough to feel the tension ease out of her shoulders. The bartender points to her empty drink to ask if she wants another, and Anya nods _yes_ for her. Anya can’t be this obnoxious and bossy in bed.

Lexa is standing flush against her, it's the crowd. Clarke hasn’t wanted her to move. Clarke inches closer. She’s lithe and strong. She's beautiful, and when Clarke can’t bear to look at her anymore she has Anya to look at. Which throws her into a slight panic again. They’re both gorgeous. It’s not fair.

“Yes, thank you. I would like a drink.”

Anya slides closer to her, resting an arm over hers. She has a drink in her other hand, something with mint in it, a mojito. Because Anya would drink a mojito on a late November night. Clarke shivers in sympathy and takes her arm.

Lexa leans her chin over her shoulder. 

"You’re so—" Lexa says.

"Fuck," Clarke says. "Are you seriously both hitting on me?"

"Yes? Did you think this was a joke? It can be. I hate bars. Why the fuck else would I be here if—"

“Anya,” Lexa says.

Clarke takes a long swallow off her drink because she really didn’t think they were serious, but Raven just disappeared and neither of them seems remotely upset. That’s weird. Lexa's fingers slide against Clarke's wrist, rough and sure.

"What about Raven?” Clarke finally asks

"Fuck off," Anya says, with pretty good humor but she pulls away. Clarke can feel Lexa stiffen behind her. Did they both really think she wouldn’t ask?

"She goes away for months at a time.” 

Clarke feels safe between them. Anya’s fingers circle around her other wrist, entwine with Lexa’s and then trace away.

"Raven’s good," Lexa says. “We have a system, a code. Sometimes she goes away for a very long time. If she were in danger we would know. It’s been this way for years. I’d imagine when you deal with some of the people she does you have to be a little—“

"She’s okay. Promise, she always is." Anya sets her drink down and pushes it away. "We wouldn’t be here with you if she wasn’t. You’re okay, too, you know? You’re safe.”

“You're safe.” 

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Clarke says. Anya’s graceful brows arch and Lexa, with great amusement and fondness, thinks she can nearly hear Anya’s teeth grind.

* * *

For whatever reason, they go back to Anya’s apartment. If Clarke was to guess she thinks it’s to protect her privacy since everyone in the world has keys to Lexa’s place. Anya’s loft is more of a penthouse, everything is from West Elm, but Clarke barely gets a chance to look. Once they're through the door, Anya eases her firmly, gently against it and kisses the daylights out of her. They make out like that against the door. Clarke with both hands on Anya's jaw, her knee pressed between her legs.

"Maybe we’ll just kiss you tonight," Anya says, pulling away to catch her breath. “You taste really good.”

"Yes. Okay.” Clarke says, stupid with feelings.

Anya kisses Clarke again, quick and almost chaste, and then takes both their coats off, grabs her hand and leads Clarke further into the apartment. The room spins and Anya shifts herself under her arm for better support. Clarke appreciates Anya’s strength because shit, this woman is strong in all the good ways.

Anya leads her to a couch and Clarke drops down against the cushions and gets handed two Advil and a water bottle.

Lexa makes quick work of the rest of Clarke’s clothes and helps her change into an old pair of basketball shorts and a very worn “Hamilton” tee-shirt. Lexa slides in next to her under the throw blanket and pats her shoulder. Clarke shifts against her, lowering her head so Lexa can run her long, graceful fingers through her hair. Clarke realizes she seems to have this obsession with Lexa’s thighs, because she keeps thinking about biting and licking them, and how that would make Lexa moan.

Ten minutes later, Clarke is settled further into the cushions, spreading butter and jam onto a slice of just-toasted bread. She chews happily on the much-needed snack as she contemplates the woman who has her legs draped on her lap and is absently rubbing the arches of Clarke’s feet. It feels indescribable.

Lexa is a lot easier to take when she has more clothes on. 

Early light falls through high windows. Anya lounges quietly across from them, her feet on the coffee table. The air smells sweet and strangely primitive, the cold months approaching underneath the last of a pretty mild autumn. Outside nothing but the sound of the wind and early traffic.

Lexa closes her eyes before saying softly, and very firmly, “Your mother will be alright, too. She has you again. You came back. So whatever happens—she’ll be okay.”

And suddenly Clarke feels that’s true, and almost cries as all the exhaustion, tension and hurt drains out of her. She has a family again. 

Clarke’s eyes look suddenly so blue when she says, “I’m glad I'm here,” and reaches out blindly for Lexa’s hand.

* * *

“Where is she?”

“How did you find us?” Anya asks, as she sleepily steps to the side and motions Abby in. “You know what? Never mind, I don’t care. Hi, Abby. Clarke’s over there—she’s that adorable lump on the couch. Can I get you some coff— whoa.“

Abby grabs at Anya’s sleeve before steering her firmly towards the kitchen, “I would love that, yes. Where’s Raven?”

Lexa calmly hands off a mug of fresh brew to Abby and looks like she’s deciding what she wants to say.

Abby retreats, a little. ”I know Clarke is safe with you both. Raven—“

“Raven is in Paris. She’s staying at my apartment,” Lexa says quietly. The tension coursing through Abby’s body is hard to miss and Lexa’s best guess is that she hasn’t slept in 24 hours. She looks capable of killing both of them if she doesn’t get the information she wants, though, and Lexa makes a split second decision to trust the mother of the woman she’s falling in love with. She also makes the decision to make another batch of toast. Loads of butter and jam never hurt anyone.

“Paris. Where?” Abby’s aggressive urgency is dimmed a little, but there’s still that odd edge of implicit threat.

Lexa stares at Abby, “Are you going to hurt her?”

Abby flushes hot, “God, Lexa. No. Of course not.”

“I mean, any more than you already have?” It’s not an accusation, it’s a statement.

“Let me try to fix this.”

Lexa is quiet until the toast pops up. She plates the bread, slathers some butter and jam on both pieces and hands the food to Abby, gesturing at her to eat. “You can try.”

* * *

Raven stands back from the door feeling like—nothing to do but wait. She’s dismissed Monty and Jasper, practically kicked them back to the states before she gave up and told them to bring back some McDonald’s in a few hours.

Raven stares at the computer tablet on her lap, deep in thought. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen—it’s surpassing her wildest hopes. There’s nothing to do, Monty said, all we have to do is watch it unfold. Abby will have what she’s been dreaming of in a matter of days, maybe hours.

“I’m just supposed to wait?” Raven ground out over the phone, her frustration obvious.

That got her a laugh, pure amusement. “You’re allowed to be happy,” her handler reminded her. Even with the scrambler on Raven could sense deep affection. “I’m extremely proud of you.”

Raven flushed with pleasure despite herself. It was hard not to respond to praise in this. She deserved it. Abby deserved to get what she wanted.

“You and Monty were perfect. The program is running all on its own. I’m watching every code or hack performed in the sphere as we speak.”

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Her handler says, “The code is being stripped of any markers or particulars that would be traced after.”

“The build out. I know,” Raven says.

With a sigh, the disembodied voice is back to business, giving Raven easy instructions. How long it will be till their next contact and how to navigate the neighborhood without being seen. Where to shop. Raven opens the tablet’s interface port and manages to override a few subroutines. Then, with only a minor amount of bickering about Raven’s skipping a few password protocols between them, Raven asks the question she’s wanted to for years.

“Will you come? It’s time.”

“Yes, I’d imagine it is. I’ve wanted to meet you for years. Tomorrow.”

To Raven, who doesn’t want anyone but Abby—the one person she can never see again—It feels like signing a suicide note with a smile.

Lexa and Anya will understand—and they’ll be there when she comes in from the cold months, maybe years from now, with another name and identity. This assignment was that big, and took everything she had away from her.

* * *

"Come on already," Lexa whispers into Clarke’s ear, "Fuck me.”

She’s waited a whole two interminable hours after Abby left the apartment because it’s probably as polite as she can be at the moment—Abby _is_ Clarke’s mother and Lexa was raised correctly. It feels like she’d been up all night, every night since she’s met Clarke, thinking about what they would do together.

Lexa’s sharp, tactical intelligence jumps from plan to plan until it lights on the one thing she hasn’t considered, ever. The one set of circumstances where Clarke picks her head up from the jumble of pillows and blankets that is now the couch and grabs her hand as she bends down to tug the edge of a quilt back over Clarke’s leg. Clarke pulls her down into a slow kiss full of promise and questions.

“Oh?” Lexa says, startled. And somewhere behind her, Anya bursts into real, genuine laughter.

“Come here,” Clarke whispers, and there’s no art to it or technique. Lexa just falls into her arms. Thankfully, Anya settles by her side, stroking up under her hair, murmuring into her ear, asking her if it’s too soon. Eyes glazed, tousled, both sets of hands strong against her back. She  _can’t_ wait any longer. That would be impossible and cruel.

Clarke runs her hand up the underside of Lexa's thigh, which is painfully tight and already trembling. Her other hand slides across Lexa’s shoulder and grasps her lightly around the neck.

"Kiss me again." 

"Is that all?" Lexa says, just before biting Clarke’s bottom lip and then soothing it. Anya relaxes behind her, cradling her to her chest.

Clarke does fuck Lexa, though, and it's fantastic. Anya gently but firmly maneuvers Lexa onto her hands and knees and works her open with three fingers until Lexa is biting her hand before Clarke slides the cock into her. Lexa rides Clarke slowly, as slow as she can, completely aware of both Clarke and Any holding her hips in a punishing, relentless grip. Anya moans and traces one of her hands over both their chests until her fingers are wrapped in Clarke’s hair, half-caress, half-command.

"You're so tight," Clarke gasps.

"Shut up, oh my god," Lexa says, but her voice is shaking.

Clarke pulls out, careful not to hurt her, steadying herself against Anya and for a second Lexa thinks she's pissed her off, but Clarke flips her, places both hands on her shoulder, pushing her down into the cushions and then eases in. Anya draws her tongue along Lexa's jawline and lips, and Lexa’s already too close to coming to care what she looks like. She knows she's flushed and heated, her chest and stomach slick with spit and come, knows that she's making really embarrassing sounds from deep in her throat. It takes everything she has in her to beg Clarke to slow down, “Clarke, let me—“

It’s too much to beg coherently at all, and Lexa grasps blindly for Anya, who sits up and settles herself back down right above Lexa’s mouth, strong thighs framing her face. Lexa reaches up, shivering, with her hand and tongue and traces the edges of Anya’s center, slowly before flattening her tongue against her clit and hearing Anya swear breathlessly. Clarke lean forward and slides her lips and mouth up over her straining back, leaving a hot, wet trail of heat all along her spine—pushing her further down onto Lexa. When Anya finally arches and cries out, Lexa’s arms tighten around her hips, and her head tilts back, and Clarke’s kiss is searching and fierce. Anya moans into her mouth, laughing to herself, as feeling comes back slowly, her mind empty.

Lexa’s thighs are stretched around Clarke's waist, muscles straining. Anya puts a hand on Clarke’s cock, rubs more spit and lubricant all over the thick silicone, and helps Clarke pump it slowly in and out of Lexa. Clarke’s eyes half-close, her tongue crashes into her teeth and she starts moaning and Lexa lets the sound of her voice—the rough, deep edge of Clarke’s pleasure take her over. She’s crying. She doesn’t even care what she’s saying.

“Come now, baby,” Anya tugs sharply at a lock of her hair. “Now.”

Lexa does with a shout, snapping up and grasping at Clarke's neck and shoulders. Anya deliberately pushes her fingers between the straps around Clarke’s hips and cunt to force her into her own orgasm, loving the deep groan she makes when she does.

"Fuck," Clarke says, eloquently, and pulls out.

Lexa rolls over, boneless and still coming. She kisses Anya deeply and swipes her hand over Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke’s hand caresses her back and Lexa just hums, content.

"You're staying, then?" Anya asks after awhile. She still thinks Clarke will run.

Clarke opens one eye. "Yes.”

"Good," Lexa says and means it.

Clarke curls between Lexa and Anya, holding both of their hands and they fall asleep, Clarke resting in the strange inner calm of two beautiful, generous women wrapped around her.

* * *

Raven wakes up in the morning, or maybe it's early afternoon, to seven missed calls and fifteen texts from Abby. She ignores them because there’s nothing she can do now and it hurts. She’s cried herself out over the last few days.

In the morning light, she vaguely remembers that she loves Paris. The apartment is vast, with tall ceilings, and lovely remnants of Belle Époque details. There are centuries in the bones of the old building, flooded with cool air and daylight. And she smells bacon and eggs. 

Across the road from a church, there’s a view of the Sacré-Coeur, roofs and chimneys. Far below, the sounds of Parisian street life wash over her. There are birds, a dog barks. Raven rolls over and sighs. She has one hour to herself before her world changes again. She slips her briefs back on before going to find out if Monty is making her some of what smells so delicious.

The woman in the kitchen serving scrambled eggs onto a plate with bacon is neither Monty nor Jasper. Abby turns around at the stove.

"Ah," she says. "You're up. Hungry?"

Abby's only wearing sweatpants and an old tee-shirt, and Raven can see the well-defined shape of her stomach, the cut of her pelvic muscles. She's really attractive—attractive and right here—which makes Raven kind of hate her. Because if you disappear on someone, that’s—Raven’s going to kill Lexa and Anya for not being able to keep their mouths shut _at all_. But she is hungry, and now in shock and so she takes a seat at the table and accepts the breakfast that Abby's made her. Abby sits across from her and watches her eat, but doesn't have anything of her own, just coffee. It makes Raven crazy that Abby hasn’t even tried to kiss her yet.

As soon as Raven finishes the last of the bacon, Abby stands up from the table.

Raven stares at her.

"Monty said you had an appointment today. Soon."

And now Raven really will kill Monty when she sees him.

Abby leans across the table to kiss her, gently. Fiercely. And Raven falls apart.

Abby makes her wild—murmuring her name against Raven’s neck, the soft edge of her ear, the tips of her fingers roaming and seeking fire all over her already burning skin. She laughs at herself. Who’s fucked up hilarious idea was it to place her as an escort. For _this_ woman. You’d have to be a blind asshole not to fall in love with her.

She looks in the mirror and sees walls of moonlit cloud rising inside her, filling her eyes, breaking apart whoever she thought she was before she met Abby. Abby Griffin was a mark. Raven was an escort. That was it. It should have been simple. But when Raven hears Abby’s voice, telling her what to do, she does what she’s told.

“Let’s get you dressed.”

* * *

It was only a few hours until it gets dark again, as it turns out. Raven’s sense of time is hilariously off.

"I’m not going without you." Raven, still in shock, murmurs to Abby after they sit quietly together in the dark.

"Why would you say that?"

“Something my mother would say before disappearing for most of the year.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Raven can only nod.

“Raven,” Abby says, “I’ll be here. All you have to do is come back.”

* * *

Raven has never met her handler in person. Some agents needed debriefing protocols that ran by the book—monthly, weekly extractions depending on their psyche and general nerves—but in the long string of operations they’d worked together over the years—labyrinthine, black ops, thousands of moving pieces, several targets—the less they knew about each other the better.

Raven knew that as a field agent there was a file somewhere—most of it redacted. No photographs. There was only so much either of them wanted to know, and it was safer if their bond was anonymous.

Raven wanted to be handled; this one was the best they had. The man or woman (she didn’t know, the gender of the voice was unrecognizable) was so welcome and so needed it was like losing air when they didn’t speak after a few days. She didn’t want to have to think her way out of deep cover. She wanted someone who could read her when she was in too far, and too tired, or was about to go off and get herself in a lot of trouble. Abby was a lot of trouble—she’d gone and done something irrevocably stupid. She’d fallen in love with her. She needed this face-to-face to recalibrate and focus. She needed to clear her mind.

Jaha had acted exactly the way his psyche eval had said he would—Abby had come through and wanted the project open-sourced, and the fissures had opened in Raven’s heart. She was exposed.

Jaha was now rogue—he’d always been a willful, religion-saturated lone wolf in a pack of alphas. She’d grown up with the man; he’d trained her—handed her a gun and quoted scripture—made sure Sinclair took her under his wing as soon as she could make her own lunches for school. When Jaha pushed; she’d pushed back. Recklessly. But because of Abby and Jake, no one had control over the project now. 

Raven would check back into the network in a day or so and rediscover a dark, ephemeral Turing machine tapping into the collective knowledge gathered from thousands of providers and millions of patient visits, as well as data on treatments other doctors provided to patients with similar profiles. And because of Raven, Abby would see results in days.

Abby’s dream was already realized, courtesy of thousands of faceless, nameless keyloggers waiting to get their hands on a wide-open freeware problem like A.I. capable of crunching vast amounts of data and identifying patterns that humans couldn’t. A holistic, life-affirming system. Apolitical for as long as it could be. Abby had murmured that to her before dozing off against her chest.

Abby had confided to her late one night, over a long dinner after rounds were done. It was a middling Italian place with red-checkered table cloths but the house wine was a pleasant surprise and the lasagna was better than what even Anya made.

“I’m worried regulators will view the systems as medical devices, subject to the review of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration. We can’t risk the time and expense required for FDA approval,” Abby pointed between Raven and herself, “Jaha will jump on us.” Abby drains her glass of wine, her frustration incredibly apparent.

Raven sighed at the memory. Lexa and Anya, she would see again, someday. She was in love with—well, now there was Abby. Abby was something at once very satisfying and very fragile, and Raven had placed herself, her real self, in Abby’s hands. This was kind of a revelation.

And Raven might never see her again; because she’d made sure Abby got what she wanted with all her heart. She’d released the program—she’d freed it. And she had to disappear.

That’s why she was on her way to meet her handler in Paris, slowly losing her mind with sadness.

* * *

Raven opens her eyes. She’s where she’s supposed to be. It’s the bookstore that’s become uncanny—the café usually so busy, is in total silence. Raven’s wearing her best suit. 

In a moment, after being scared half to death—it’s all coming back to her, all the details of the last couple of days, who she is, what her name is, what she’s eaten. She strains to look directly across the courtyard at the woman who’s coming towards her through the dimly illuminated courtyard, as though the figure, the beauty of her, is remembered from a dream. The dream she left in the apartment not a quarter of an hour ago.

From where she’s sitting it’s impossible to see anyone else, and for a moment she thinks the love of her life is just being intensely stubborn and unwilling to wait, which—that's adorable and horrifically inconvenient. She even, for a moment, feels the thrill of knowing that Abby would follow her into even this kind of danger. But there’s no sound, not a thing.

Raven is making a mistake, what she's seeing is a mistake; she's desperate that this is a mistake. She half stands, and is about to tell Abby that she has to leave right away, she has to go, when Abby reaches out and grips Raven's arm and Raven looks into those startling eyes again and knows, absolutely knows, that this is not in any way, a mistake.

In that awful, shrinking, mirrored moment—a moment like a nightmare hallway and the impossible task of reaching a never-ending disappearing door—the same moment Abby must have felt when Raven disappeared from the island with all of her life’s work—she discovers that she has never hated anyone until now. The hatred is as pure as love, is as passionate as love and fills her veins with fire. There is _everything_ personal about it.

Abby's eyes are ice—and that’s where Raven’s blood gets it’s cold and frozen promise—all of Abby’s amber warmth and scathing intelligence is hooded. Her eyes scan Raven like she’s a target—weaknesses, and strengths cataloged and filed away between seconds of time.

Raven honestly doesn’t know why she isn’t more surprised. She’s seen the look before. In bed. Afterwards. In the Trauma center. Whenever Abby is at the edge of life and death. Even when she laughs. Raven recognizes it all.

"Did you always know?" Raven asks on a gasp, unstrung, desperate.

Abby looks at her. It’s not contempt. Not yet. Raven’s just failing some kind of test—spectacularly.

"Just after Jaha came to me and told me he wanted to keep our project a government—a secret—put it under the umbrella of the NSA—he stupidly exposed you as a walk-in and flagged your potential for insubordination,” Abby says, turning from Raven's wide-eyed stare back to her death grip on Raven’s arm. “So no, I didn’t know in Las Vegas. But I did my homework. I knew just before I came out to the island.”

And then she continues to debrief and Raven sinks further and further into her chair, heartbroken.

It’s been three days— three days with no sleep and a lot of coffee. A lot of fiddling with whatever code Raven, Monty, and Jasper could pluck out of the ether and play around with. A lot of time to think about the woman in front of her. Someone it turns out that she’s known most of her life.

Abby is just blithely winding down her report and Raven lets her, too stunned to do much else or pick up the complete incongruity of Abby’s recitation. This wasn’t out of the ordinary really. Just like any other time they’d done this—on a phone call. At any other time, Raven would have known something was wrong.

“Raven,” Abby smiles, talking a little too loudly for a public space, a little too technical and clinical, enunciating a little too clearly for the kind of meeting this is, “You did it. We have a deep multi-agent reinforced learning scaffold we can apply to an intelligence. We have the emergence of cooperation. Jaha’s been neutralized. You did it.”

Suddenly Abby leans forward; anguish blooming in her eyes, “Raven, listen—“

Raven swallows, she’d had time to give real thought to her feeling of Abby, as a never to be repeated fever dream, the hot and cold nature of her, and the desire and fear she evokes in Raven. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and moves without thinking, reaching for her gun, and the unparalleled wheels of her mind keep turning relentlessly.

* * *

She knows she’s in the back of a car, other than that she remembers next to nothing. That they arrive somewhere, she’s sure. Later, Raven will wonder how she didn’t recognize the look in Abby’s eyes right before she blacked out.

“Raven, you're safe.”

Abby’s compassion. It’s always been Abby’s compassion that destroys her.


	13. Chapter 13

The next few days are some of the worst Abby can remember. Besides dealing with Raven—who’s bewildered and furious—she fields the reports as they come in. She tracks Thelonius as he veers more and more dangerously off-script. Raven did her job with impeccable precision (with like, her usual M.O. of 10% additional recklessness, but Abby appreciates that) and none of their directors in Tech or Cyber Enterprise would find fault with any of it—and she knows intuitively they both still need to disappear for a few weeks. Jaha is living an ideal post-9/11—almost understandable after the death of his son—tying their research to extensive surveillance. It's Pramheda's cryogenics that has Abby reeling.

Raven’s being nearly impossible and she’s also somehow tolerating this new reality with perverse humor. God, that's dangerous. They’ve been there only a couple of days, but Abby needs her routine. She gets up, she makes coffee and she heads to the back gardens of the safehouse to watch the sun come up.

* * *

The sun is just finally warming her when Raven makes it out of bed, looking tousled and grumpy and cute. She slumps down gracelessly next to Abby on the steps. She tips her head back and sighs happily after taking a long sip of coffee. 

"Hey,” she murmurs. “Lavender.” 

"Hi," Abby says, with a small smile. “Yes, we’re in the mountains. Provence.”

"Do _they_ know where we are?" Raven asks, long moments later.

"No," Abby says, running her hand through Raven’s hair before even thinking about it, and then folding her hand back into her lap. "Jake and I set this up, just for us. For a scenario like this one." 

"Are you afraid?" Raven asks; eyes closed.

The urge to just run her hands through her hair is really strong, and Abby holds back—let's this be what it is; two people, in a very strange situation—talking over coffee as their day begins.

"No. I’m relieved. It’s done.”

"I mean, are you afraid of me?" Raven asks and then yawns quietly. 

"Always,” Abby says, after a long time, reaching out again to tuck a strand of hair behind Raven's ear and she watches, grateful, as Raven relaxes under her touch.

A long moment later, when Raven remains silent, Abby clears her throat. "I’ve always been regulated to a hazy area of wait-and-see, doing work on a contracting basis for the Company—I’ve had my long term objectives mapped out since the first time Jake and I came up with these ideas. The Company left me alone with an open-ended timeline. Jaha pushed the schedule—“

“Yeah, it’s out of your hands now, definitely—“ Raven laughs mirthlessly.

“Why do you think they picked you?” Abby tries not to sound impatient.

Raven bites her lip, wincing. She’s no longer furious, but she refuses to relent for the most part, except for a few awful moments she was awake in the car that first night.

_“You don’t have to take care of me, Abby. And—ugh, fuck you.”_

_Abby grits her teeth and says, as calmly as she can, “Raven, It’s my job to take care of you. They're going to isolate me, okay? They're going to want me to bring you in and then they’ll be very nice to you. They're going to manufacture a connection between you and Jaha. So that if this—if the open source fails and nothing useful comes from our release and the Farm can’t utilize any of it—they'll have someone to crucify at the Senate hearings. You.”_

_“So I guess I'm on your side, right? Always was. Even when I didn’t know it,” Raven can’t help it; Abby pissed off and—she’s so hot when she’s angry—it’s very appealing. She smiles and changes tactics because this is all ABSURD, “I’m flattered.”_

_Abby glances at Raven quickly, and then swings her gaze back to the road, “I'm on your side.”_

They’d assigned Abby as Raven’s handler immediately, right after Jake died and Abby was fascinated from the start, happy and grateful for the shared anonymity. Both Jake and Clarke had broken her heart; she didn’t need or want anything but adrenaline.

 _“After Jake died and Clarke ran, I didn’t want much of anything in the way of human contact. Marcus always said that the look on my face after Jake died on my table was indescribable, and if I had really sat with all of it I would have felt actively afraid for my soul._ _But I had—you—you were my faceless field agent. You were fascinating and intelligent and I decided to live.” She says almost to herself, and Raven leans in to hear her. "Listen to this. Sodium polyethanol sulfonate. It's an additive used to prevent clotting. Looks like the radiation broke it down and caused a chain reaction. If we remove it? We could save everyone."_

_"Abby, what are you—are you alright?"_

Raven is a once in a lifetime intelligence. Raven was a perfect, ephemeral mind. It happened the first time they talked. Abby craved her. No real names exchanged, just raw ideas, information, pure form. They talked every week for a few years. It was all reports, updates, nothing personal, occasional money transfers, anything she needed while she was so deep under.

 _Let them chase you,_  she’d said. She’d known what Raven wanted, why she landed at the Farm—Raven needed an arena for her ideas—and she knew what else Raven needed—freedom to change everything. Raven was so much like Jake it actually hurt her—it destroyed Abby every time they debriefed. She lived for it, too. _You don’t need us—the Company needs you. Let them chase after you._

And what was left unsaid, and was at the heart of their every interaction— _Get out. Burn it down._

* * *

Which was why Abby sat curled up under a blanket against a late afternoon thunderstorm in this unfamiliar farm 20 kilometers from nowhere watching Raven sleep and listening with growing dismay at the utter fucking nonsense on the encrypted comms as agents scrambled to find them. And even accounting for Abby’s heightened precautions, they needed to remain radio silent for only a short while longer, really, just until the A.I. started to take shape.

Any more prolonged period of time and suspicions would turn into fact—Jaha was already trying desperately to raise them on the secured line—in order for the parlor-trick to have the most impact, Raven really _did_ need to disappear—or more horribly, be brought in and neutralized as a outlier.

_Raven mumbles in her sleep. Usually, it's random. “To land this ship in one piece, calculating the re-entry trajectory has to be perfect, deploying the thrusters has to be perfect, the burn rate has to be perfect."  
_

_"Perfect. Raven? What—" Abby says, startled, "Are you broken? What are you even talking about? Maybe perfect is your problem."  
_

_"What? Perfect sucks." Raven remains ded asleep.  
_

Who cares about perfect as long as you and Abby walk away with the magic potion, right? A controlled crash is still a crash.

Swim away. _  
_

 

* * *

Abby leans back in her chair, and stretches her legs out in front of the fire, “So, you and Sinclair built an integrated computational system that can learn, predict and interpret how genetic variation—”

“Yep. Transcription, splicing, polyadenylation, and translation, how manipulating them can lead to effective therapies.” Raven nods.

“Jake and I found patterns in massive datasets and generated really basic computer models—we came up with a causal interpretation of genetic variation, not just the correlative information—but then he—” Abby sighs, and Raven lets her be for a long time before beginning the conversation again.

“Abby, it’ll be alright. And now, with it all out there, it’s going to be free. Any variant. Any disease. We can finish your work _.”_

“Mm. And Becca's work.”

“Who is this woman? Should I be jealous?” Raven laughs to herself before almost dozing off again after their dinner of good bread and even better seafood lasagna.

Things were marginally under control now between them, which was the only thing stopping Abby from flinging all her spy gadgets out the window at the cows meandering around in the fields and drowning herself in the perfectly wonderful claw foot bathtub upstairs with all the wine. Because, _holy fuck._

* * *

This all was surprisingly normal, really.

After Raven completed any mission objectives she would always disappear for a time. But it was astonishing to disappear with someone so _public_ —someone she realized she had no idea about. Abby was used to being the center of attention; she was a high-profile surgeon. And Abby had been a client. And Abby was her handler. Raven blinks furiously a few times.

She decides to take up cooking because why the hell not, they’ve gone to ground in Provence, and they’re not leaving for at least a week.

Besides cooking extravagant dinners, Raven spends most of the time tinkering with pieces of equipment she finds around the grounds of the old farm, while Abby takes long walks in the hills and comes back looking refreshed, calm and pleasantly distracted. Neither of them is going anywhere, by some silent agreement between them. There’s too much for them here.

* * *

Raven sets the piece of engine on her lap and stretches, trying to reach her cell phone, and then unceremoniously flopping onto her back and swiping to unlock it.

“Oh, good.  I thought you’d gotten lost.”

Raven flinches, “Oh, hey Anya. S’up.”

The heavy, incredulous breathing is new and Raven notes it with distinct interest like a bunny notices a predator. Anya is really hard to rattle. She feels vaguely proud of herself.

 _“_ Raven, _I swear to God.”_

Raven rubs at her face, frustration washing over her in cold waves, “You know as much as I do—I’m okay, I just—need to figure some stuff out,” she snits back, and then after a few minutes of listening to Anya tear her a new one she throws the phone against the wall.

When it doesn’t break she stares at it, sighs and then walks over to pick it up again and Anya’s still bitching.

“Hey, are you okay?” Lexa takes the phone.

“What? Yes, of course. Except for my life being batshit insane, sure.”

“I feel like this is normal for you, though,” Lexa hums, thoughtfully crunching down on a carrot. Raven can picture her stretching out further on her bed and closing her eyes, in a state of serene contemplation.

Raven smiles. “I’m fine.”

The line is distressingly quiet for a while, and then Lexa slowly exhales. 

“I think, Raven—I think you’re used to getting away with a lot of shit. More than anyone has a right to, _and_ I’m guessing you’re holed up with Abby? Because no one’s heard from her, either.”

Raven grunts, her head hurts. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me, babe,” Lexa sighs again. “Tell her Clarke’s a little worried, okay? That’s all.”

Whatever she was going to say back just gets caught somewhere in her throat, and Raven rubs at her eyes for a few long, awkward moments.

“We’re waiting something out, okay? We’re fine,” Raven finally says. “I mean, I’m furious, but?”

“Oh, poor Abby.”

“Poor _Abby?_ Poor _me_ ,” Raven complains.

“If it’s really that bad just screw it and come home. Abby’s a big girl.” Lexa suggests. 

Raven is quiet and then says, “You’re right. But I kind of like her conversational skills, and her mind—she’s really smart—and making her _dinner_ or whatever. And she’s beautiful. I’m really fucked, aren’t I?”

“ _G_ _od,_ ” Lexa laughs, “Well, good. At least you’re verbalizing what you—use your words more, I love it.”

“Just saying,” Raven mumbles.

And then Abby reaches over her shoulder and swipes the phone off. Raven glares at her and stalks away.

Abby places a call to Marcus. It makes her feel oddly delighted when he picks up and starts laughing hysterically.

* * *

Raven is doing some kind of spongebob-esque drip off the couch. She hasn’t really moved since after breakfast in the quiet and slow afternoon torpor—her legs in the air, back on the floor, wires and wrenches and other tools she found in the barn braced vertically against her thighs as she works—when Anya and Lexa call for the umpteenth time.

“Tell Abby we’re boning her daughter and both of you need to get the hell back here to slap the shit out of us. It’s like, an emergency. We do it every day. Several times.”

“You do? I’m so happy for all of you, babe. Leveling up.”

“Oh, fuck right off.” Lexa pauses, “We do miss you, you asshole. And you know we’re just calling to let you know we’ve had some visitors. Idiots in hideous black suits off the rack. No one’s particularly happy with either of you right now, nerd.”

“I’m fine. We’re both fine.”

“Raven,” Anya’s hypnotic, low voice comes back on at the other end, “We can come get you, and it’s not a problem. Clark’s freaking out—she thinks Abby is going to kill you, isn’t that silly? Thought so. Will you be home for Christmas?”

“We’re fine,” Raven tells her. “Some long overdue truth-telling quiet time is all.”

“Okay, But don’t sulk about everything, okay? You don’t want Abby to know you’re actually an infant.”

“Thanks, guys!”

* * *

Abby hears the front door open and slams shut.

“Abby?” Raven’s voice is tight.

“In here.” Abby stands, her heart crawling into her throat as Raven comes stalking through the doorway furious after days of playing this weird kind of house. Abby knows Raven’s anger comes in waves, but it’s awful as hell whenever it happens, “Raven—”

“Give me your phone,” Raven snarls, and God the woman is  _fast_. Abby finds herself with a hand in her hair, Raven’s other arm around Abby’s lower back and waist—Abby held firmly against Raven’s chest.

“Raven, what—?”

“Talk. _Now_ ,” Raven’s ferocity ruins Abby’s ability to think (and her panties)—Raven makes Abby’s brain go skittering sideways in panic. So she shuts up and then hoping she doesn’t get brained, slides both arms around Raven, slipping under her shirt and against her warm skin.

“You need to tell me who you really are,” Raven says more calmly after a minute of Abby’s hands stroking her lower back.

“I’m just a surgeon. My name really is Abby Griffin. Jake and I wanted to change the world and we didn’t shut up about it—we weren’t quiet. We were kids and very, very naïve and stupid. Several men showed up after dinner one day and didn’t give us any choice.” She sighs and grasps Raven’s hips, “Can’t you, I don’t know, read my mind? Aren’t you trained to—?”

“You’re my _superior_ ,” Raven sounds _really_ pissed and Abby shuts her eyes, distracted by Raven’s warm breath against her cheek, Raven’s mouth near her ear. “How did you not _know_ about me when we first met—?”

Abby noses along Raven’s jawline, she can’t help it, she smells so good, and thinks before answering, “This bullshit espionage is kind of just a hobby? Except when it isn’t and people get killed. Oh jeez, I’m kidding. I mean, you’re right. My life ended up absurd. They recruited Jake and me. It meant we didn’t have to scramble for anything, anymore. I did it to finish my degree, get access to tech no one will see in decades—” Abby is actually confused for a moment, “Oh, Raven—ok, the sex, uhm. Vegas. That’s just for me. I enjoy it. How could I possibly know you had a similar _hobby_.”

And Raven tenses up, and Abby wonders why because Raven doesn’t actually have a fucking dreadful sense of humor, and must have known she was going to answer her truthfully. And she’s being hilarious right now if she’s being honest. Did Raven really not know—?

Raven's mouth dips lower along Abby’s neck, biting just under her ear, making Abby gasp. “I’m really mad at you. Why did we never meet before uh, we met? You could have _told_  me who you were, we were tripping our faces off and you didn’t—” Raven's voice is childlike, vulnerable.

“When exactly was I going to tell you?” Abby shakes her head. “When you had me bent over—okay, yes I didn’t understand anything about you for a long time. What you mean to me.”

“Tell me.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Abby murmurs against Raven’s cheek as Raven runs her hands over her shoulders and her upper back and then along her neck, “I like oatmeal cookies, popcorn and chocolate together, I used to cry when I had to dissect frogs, I love garbage tv, Chinese food, and Joni Mitchell, snow storms and I’m—I can only handle sex if I’m paying and have to work for it in bed—oh, fuck _yes_ right there—and I’m working for the Company because I need to see this project I started with my dead husband through to the end, and they recruited me and didn’t give me any choice. And Jaha is the fucking literal worst. He betrayed us. He got greedy, and he was my friend.’”

Raven bites down hard on Abby’s lower lip, and Abby moans, clutching at Raven’s back. “Now you,” Abby manages, just barely.

“Sex has always been—I didn’t tell you any of that because you were so—amazing. I loved talking to you. I do it to collect information—to shame marks, manipulate them, and destroy them,” Raven says so softly; Abby has to strain to hear her, “Sex is my way of getting information. I’m crazy about you.”

“I didn't think about it,” Abby says. “We got married. Distracted. Wait. You’re crazy about me as your handler or the other thing?”

Neither of them is making any sense.

“What? Shut up, Abby. Okay so you really didn't know anything about my... recreational activities,” Raven flushes a deep pink, and she shoves uselessly at Abby, who has just found her brain and backs Raven towards the wall, her hands everywhere, making Raven crazy.

“I was _ordered_ not to meet you—I only knew basics—your skill sets and your precision training, and your— oh you know what?” Abby swears under her breath, “the embargo on us knowing each other’s real identity was lifted three weeks ago, before Thanksgiving—I didn’t think you’d do anything _that_ off the timeline, that fast.”

Raven shoves both hands against Abby’s shoulders, forcibly putting some space between them.

She glares at Abby, her eyes fierce and hurt. Her lip curled. “Right. You’re better than I am at that, being told what to do,” she bites out. Abby stares at her, cheeks burning, her eyes stinging uncomfortably, and then she slaps Raven hard across the face.

“Go to hell, Raven,” she snaps, hating her own voice. She sounds shaken, and careless, too upset to explain why she needs anything.

“Abby,” Raven says, next to her.

“You don’t get to do that—” Abby lets out a small moan, but the hands on Abby’s hips are cautious, softer. Abby takes a long, uneven breath.

“Then tell me what to think.” Raven’s voice is gentle, unsure.

Abby bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. “I—can we just talk about science,” she says finally, and then adds before Raven protests, “Please, we’ll talk more, but just…”

Abby lets Raven put her arms around her again, even though it feels like she’s being touched by fire. Raven kisses her neck.

“Please tell me. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

Abby is still trying to think through something or other when Raven turns Abby’s chin to face her and kisses her hard and long, enough to wipe her mind of anything that was left. Raven threads her fingers into Abby’s hair and does something with her tongue that makes Abby want to throw herself over the edge of the sofa.

Instead, Raven ends up sprawled in a chair, Abby standing between her parted legs with both arms bracing herself on Raven’s shoulders as one of Raven’s hands runs up her thigh and over the curve of her ass.

“Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you knew?” Raven murmurs, sounding more dazed and reverent than Abby has ever heard, and Raven’s other hand deftly works down the buttons of Abby’s blouse.

Oh, _fuck_ ,” she straightens reluctantly, takes a deep unsteady breath and twines her hands through Raven’s hair and tugging gently, says, “You and I really need to talk before—“

“Yes, ok. Yes. Yeah, we do.”

* * *

They make another nice dinner, with bread and salad from the storage rooms at the far end of the house, and a bottle of wine, and they sit and have an a nice, ordinary time. And then they lounge on the couch—Abby’s legs across Raven’s lap—It feels perfectly natural.

It takes hours. Raven spends a lot of it staring at the window as she talks, and Abby just listens.

“I needed to be free and make my own money,” Raven's shoulders slump a little, and then she says, “even though I _am_ in love with my two best friends. It was Lexa’s laugh, I heard it when I was six and Anya’s got—she has great hair, and I got to fall asleep every night between the two people who’d promised me they loved me _just because_.”

This really is exactly where Abby wants this conversation to go, but after a moment of watching Raven struggle to continue, she reaches over and takes her hand. “Go on, baby.”

Raven looks up at the ceiling and finally sort of snorts and says, “It’s all probably about my mother, the drugs, and all my worst fears came true when I tried to confront mom about everything she’d put me through. I ran.”

“Where’d you go?”

“It wasn’t in my file?”

“Raven.”

She tells Abby about contacting Lexa and Anya, about the eight days where she’d drugged herself to get to sleep at night so as not to arouse their suspicions—that she was falling apart completely—freaked out and in pure terror at the chance of her mother finding her again.

When she got to the part where she said goodbye to her mother for the last time before sending her to the drug buy that would get her arrested, she broke down. Abby never tried to stop her from continuing; she just held her until she’d calmed down enough to keep talking.

“And that’s when they contacted you?”

“That’s when Sinclair stepped in, yeah.”

She told Abby about the new life she embraced with open arms. “ _You ever go on a space walk? Can you imagine? I’m just a kid from the projects.”_ Her mother’s death, the years of contract work and isolation, the freelance work she picked up to keep herself occupied until Sinclair and Jaha called in their debts. The Company had its resources closing in on Thelonius even then. She tells Abby everything.

Abby sits up first, enveloping Raven in one of her soul-warming hugs and kisses her, like a hello.

“Thank you for telling me, Raven,” she murmurs into Raven’s ear.

“Now you,” Raven tugs gently at her hand.

Abby looks over and sort of half-smiles, “I panicked when I figured out what Jaha was going to do—he’d already auctioned one of the program patents to G+ last year. All the technical inventions and patents pending. I went to my superiors and brought them up to speed and they said you had been working beside me all along. Can you imagine? You and I—”

“Yeah. You and I.”

 _Take me now_  and  _I want to mount you_ are both unacceptable on any number of levels and Raven can handle herself. Mostly. Raven’s finding it hard to breathe.

* * *

When Abby returns, having left the bottle in the kitchen, she sets the two glasses down on the bedside table, pouring scotch for the both of them.

Raven takes the glass, turning towards her and they drink in silence. Abby refills their glasses again. On the third refill, she starts to talk.

“I’ve—never wanted anyone but Jake,” Abby says. “What you and I do together—it goes beyond—“

After a minute, Abby sorts through a line of internal panic and continues. “I hurt people. Marcus. Clarke. All my relationships fail. Usually, I’m the one who walks away okay, with someone on the other side who’s left to pick up the pieces I’ve left for them. I walked away from Marcus.”

Raven knows the feeling, and she also remembers Abby coming apart so beautifully underneath her, and she keeps quiet.

“Did you have feelings for me?” Abby asks, “ever? Or am I just a—client? A source of information.”

“Yes, no. All of the above,” Raven says, with a wry and quiet smile, but she’s too thoughtful and sad for that to be an easy answer. “And more. I admire you.”

She still does, by the sound of it. Abby’s heart flutters.

“Did you know when you first saw me?” Abby asks. She sounds genuinely curious, as though she isn’t sure.

Raven wonders how Abby sees her, to ask a question like that. As a genius who can’t emotionally connect to other people? As someone who gets a thrill out of escorting, already has two lovers and randomly works for the intelligence community? It’s a fair question, as it turns out. Raven sighs.

“I’ve had two real loves in my life,” Raven answers, flatly. If Abby was ever shocked by her sexuality, it’s not going to be now. “I’ve only fallen in love with one person.”

_Yes. I knew when I met you._

“Have you ever been on the other side?” Abby asks.

_No. I’ve never let anyone break my heart._

Raven’s glass is empty again. She feels tired and unsure of herself.

Abby reaches to take the tumbler from Raven’s hand and sets it aside. When Raven looks at her she goes lightheaded and stupid. Abby is right there, almost touching, a breath away from her, still gazing at her intensely. Raven still hasn’t shifted away. Her eyes follow Abby’s, and she falls into them. She can’t remember how to build her defenses up anymore, or where they’ve gone in the last few minutes.

Abby’s fingers brush past Ravens jaw, spreading over her neck and she pulls Raven in for a hesitant kiss. She draws back and runs her thumb over Raven’s lower lip before following its path with her tongue. And Raven soothes over Abby’s wrists and grasps her lightly, drawing her closer. She’s already chosen Abby, no question. She’s already devoted, and her entire world starts and ends in Abby. As far as Raven’s heart knows, Abby only keeps asking for and taking what’s been hers forever.

Raven pulls her in by her shirt, kissing her without restraint. All she wants is for Abby to kiss her and tell her what she wants. She wants Abby to tell her in loving, unreasonable detail what she wants Raven to do to her. She practically purrs at Abby’s taste, the heat of her tongue, and the soft, silken slide of their mouths together. Abby’s fingertips keep ghosting across Raven’s lips before slipping against her tongue and over her teeth; the slow, firm press pulls a sigh from Raven. Opening herself up to Abby, she feels Abby’s response in her soul. She thinks that she’s going to faint.

Abby is eager and steady, pressing against her, kissing her with exquisite patience. Each brush of her lips and tongue make Raven needy, impatient; she fumbles the buttons of Abby’s shirt. Abby drops down and tugs on Raven’s hips, holding her steady as she laughs softly at Raven’s haste and irritation.

Her voice is warm and relaxed, lightly teasing. “Need help?”

“Ugh. Yes.”

Abby laughs again and it’s a warm sound that travels right to Raven’s core. And then she’s being kissed again, with Abby’s tongue sliding like silk against her own. She tastes of good scotch, the air after a storm, and a deeper, clean, earthy scent that’s uniquely Abby. Raven sighs into Abby’s mouth and is finally able to unfasten Abby’s pants, slipping her hand inside. Abby is wet, so wet. A moan escapes both of them as they break the kiss.

“Oh Jesus, Abby. All day?”

Abby loses a little composure and nods, with an inarticulate noise, emphatically—her mouth slightly open and her eyes glazed. She pulls Raven’s shirt over her head, tugs at the drawstring on Raven’s pajama pants.

Off-balance and surprised, it takes Raven a moment to gather herself and she finds Abby on her knees in front of her with a strap-on. Before she can even think to ask where that thing came from hands curl around Raven’s waistband, holding her still. Smoothly, Abby pulls Raven’s pants down over her hips and down to her ankles and she slips Raven’s legs through the complicated buckles and settles the straps and leather around Raven’s hips and waist. She waits, amused and indulgent, for Raven to catch up. Whatever Abby finally sees when she looks at Raven’s face, she takes it as permission to continue.

Raven watches her, lips parted slightly in awe, as Abby takes her into her mouth. There’s no pause, no warning. In a single moment, she takes all of Raven into her mouth, all the way up to the hilt, smoothing her hands up the back of Raven’s legs to grasp her ass. Abby sucks her off with smooth, intense movements, the muscles of her mouth working her over with a sleek, focused tension and obvious pleasure. Raven hears herself gasp, and clutches at Abby’s hair to keep herself upright.

Abby has always been rough and possessive, taking and telling Raven what she wants—only faltering once before, that first weekend. This rapt, unselfish Abby is lovely and sweet and unbearably hot. Raven is falling fast into a white blaze of pleasure. Her eyes roll up, lashes fluttering, and her elbows hit the bed as her knees give out.

Abby rises up over her and kisses her, grounding her, and holds her down with her hips as she strips off her shirt.

Dazed and very, very aroused, Raven stares at Abby’s breasts. Meeting her eyes for a moment, she finds Abby smiling, and can’t help but smile back. Raven draws herself against Abby enough to kiss her and bracing herself on one arm, Abby climbs up on Raven’s thighs, leans back and wraps a hand around Raven’s cock and begins to pump slowly.

Raven groans, hips thrusting up into Abby's warm hand—the firm, hot feeling of Abby’s thighs and cunt sliding against her. Her eyes flutter close, reducing her world to pleasure, heat, and sensation as Abby slowly rocks their hips together, thrusting over and over into her hand. Unable to help herself, Raven spreads Abby’s legs with her knees and buries herself inside her in a single relentless movement that makes Abby gasp and topple over onto her palms.  

Lips trail down Raven’s neck, Abby’s cursing, and her teeth leave light marks against Raven’s collarbone and her shoulder. “Say it,” Raven begs softly, pressing herself roughly up into Abby and then holding herself still. 

Abby bucks against her, her tongue and hand dragging over Raven’s upper chest and then when her thumb finds her nipple, skates past it along the overstimulated skin, Raven moans embarrassingly loudly. Abby sucks in her breath helplessly when she realizes that she can’t move without the sudden, delirious sense that Raven is filling her, now, entirely and completely. Raven fills her and lets her set her own pace along the hard length of the toy. Abby can’t help it; she’s moving despite herself, despite the undercurrent of her own desperation. She can feel the flush of humiliation begin in her toes.

“Look at yourself.”

Raven tilts Abby’s head forward, so she can see the shaft sliding in and out between her thighs.

“Abby,” Raven says, mostly to herself, distracted, in wonder, easing herself all the way out and pressing again all the way back in. Abby arched against her, done pretending she can do without this.

“Yes,” Abby whispers.

“Yes what, Abby?” Raven asks softly against her ear.

Abby doesn’t answer, she can’t. Raven’s turned her and is easing her back against the bed—smooth and slow like it’s something they only do together, just them, and then she closes her eyes and lets Raven kiss her.

Raven remembers Abby was a dancer. Her hand shifts to the small of her back and Abby’s eyes open and widen and Raven pulls gracefully out of her. Abby moans at the awful feeling of loss before she can stop herself. Raven kneels next to her, running a casual hand over the cock and then Abby’s torso, before kissing her again. “You need so much.”

“Tell me—” Abby starts to say, and suddenly flares hot, her temper getting the better of her and she tugs at Raven’s belt. Raven pushes up and away from her and smiles beautifully. She kisses Abby slowly, gently coaxing her lips apart with her tongue. She settles on Abby more fully, straddling her thighs again—Abby likes it, despite her being both wildly uncomfortable and turned on. She loves the full weight of Raven pressing her down, however vulnerable she feels, covering her burning skin with all of her.

She reaches up for Raven’s hair and tangles her fingers through it. Abby loves Raven’s hair, and Raven makes a delighted, approving noise.

“Oh,” she says when Abby bites down unexpectedly and then sucks on her breast. She's literally so sensitive—and Abby is so good and _present, right there—_ tears start in the corner of Raven’s eyes.

“Don’t fight me. Let me touch you,” Abby whispers. “That’s what I want. I want you.”

“You didn’t tell me about the jigsaw puzzle.” 

“What—“

“Look at you,” Raven whispers, “you can’t help it. You’re so beautiful.”  Raven falters and pumps into Abby again—suddenly helpless to do anything else, Abby always makes her helpless —the length and level of her arousal is brutal, running her hard. She forces herself to stop moving and almost starts crying it’s so hard. 

“You didn’t tell me.” Raven’s soft voice is a threat, and she still isn’t moving, and Abby is writhing helplessly in an agony of pleasure.

“I’m sorry?” Abby gasps quietly; she has no idea what Raven’s asking but she’ll say whatever right now. It’s mortifying, she’s pretty much whining. 

Raven’s mouth tastes like sea and salt and blood. They draw away from each other for a second, and Raven puts her arms around Abby and they kiss again, deeper and slower, tasting each other. And it’s then that Abby makes a sound. It’s a sound that Raven knows, and it’s a sound that Abby isn’t aware of at all—the falling, sighing sound and it marks them both—Abby is giving herself up. It’s a transformation—Raven can do what she wants. Abby’s sound enters Raven, pierces her down her whole body and Abby opens, moves beyond the light that already surrounds them at all times. 

“Okay, Abby. Hold on, baby, I’m here.” She releases Abby’s mouth and pushes Abby backward as she yanks her legs towards her; one hand roughly gripping her ass, there’s going to be bruises all over both of them. Raven doesn’t slow her movements; she speeds up giving Abby full, hard thrusts.

The sudden, absolute sense that Raven is hers, for now, entirely and completely hers, fills Abby with a glowing, warm calm and peace as the force and speed of Raven’s thrusts plateau in a steady tempo. She brings her hands to Raven’s breasts, her nipples, down her abs, clamping her legs around her waist, driving her further into her until their sweat-slick bodies are sliding together, and she's whispering in her ear, “That’s it, Raven.”

Raven arches her neck to lick along Abby’s nipple, “You taste—you're amazing.”

Raven gives Abby her whole length, slow and mean and loving. She grips Abby’s upper arms and Abby struggles against the building, crashing orgasm—almost impossible with their new angle and pace, “You had that one piece that would have completed the rose window at Chartres. It was a beautiful piece, tessellated tiles, and the light— and you had it but you weren’t paying attention. You were watching me.”

Raven makes her motions long and deep, helpless when Abby opens her eyes and catches her face in her hands. Abby utters a sound like another apology and it’s abruptly cut off when she moans as Raven slides her fingers over her hand, entwines their fingers and dips them both down into the heat and wetness between their legs. Raven’s eyes roll back in her head. Abby feels Raven begin to tremble and licks the sweat off of Raven’s temple, trying and failing to slow everything down even more.

But instead of coming, Raven takes several deep, centering breaths, and just rests her mouth against Abby’s chest, “Say it,” she pleads softly.

She’s trembling when Abby lifts her up and places her on her back—Abby rolls them over and bears down, really straddling Raven and undulating her hips, and jerks Raven off relentlessly, with perfect, tortuous movements for several endless moments—Raven grabs at her desperately; arms around her head and Abby strokes her, and rocks over her and finally, finally slips two, then three of her fingers into her.

With only two ruthless thrusts, her fingers curling, Abby stares Raven down as she crests and flies over the edge and into space with such force and exhilaration that Abby comes with her. Raven is shaking and crying as she comes, and Abby falls into her sending their shared heat to pool deep in her bones.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't read this with family in the room. Or pets.

Raven tastes like both of them, their essences mingled together on her lips. Abby wants to come again, maybe make each other fly apart over and over as long as long as they can be together in this lovely, secret and hypnotic place together. She wants Raven because of the unutterable peace that floods her whenever she’s deep inside her. She’s also happy to have the warmth and comfort of Raven’s attention, the steady, powerful honesty of her body. She feels wonderful.

“Raven,” Abby whispers against her lips, “You’re a smug asshole.”

Raven laughs in surprise, and then when Abby shifts against her, she makes a helpless, strangled noise. She’s already impossibly wet and ready again.

Raven’s fantasies of fucking Abby are, no matter how many times they’ve fallen into bed together, never as ridiculously precise or as overwhelming as the reality of Abby’s strength and heat. With every part of her that Abby pays attention to, Raven wants more. She misses her desperately in the places she’s already touched. Abby slides both of her hands up Raven’s sides and rakes her hands through her hair—holding her away from her. Raven stares at her curiously, biting her lip.

“Information is profitable. I could be anybody. You could be anybody, too. Our identities are the boring part. That's the boring part now.” Raven says very softly. “You’re what isn't boring.”

“As long as you don't work for any more governments, okay?”

“You neither. Let’s just do our work, huh?” Raven reaches for a lock of Abby’s hair, drawing it through her thumb and forefinger, “I love everybody. I get my feelings confused. Aren’t you jealous—I mean, all my clients?”

“Raven,” Abby just says, "don't be awful."

As avoidant as she’s been, now Abby has to deal in facts. When she says, “I need you,” after brushing her tongue along the corner of Raven’s mouth and placing a soft, grateful kiss there, Abby realizes no matter how much Raven might need for herself, she’s been serving Abby since they met.

She tugs on Raven’s hair until Raven makes a small, hopeful sound. To reward her, Abby sucks Raven’s nipple into her mouth, and bites down, and swirls the flat of her tongue around it slowly, soothing it. She shifts back up when Raven moans and a new sheen of sweat appears across her chest, and Abby deepens her kisses; until Raven comes a little bit to her senses and kisses her back, undeniably persuasive—all defiance surrendered.

“Tomorrow, we resign from the Company.” Abby says, matter-of-fact, “I asked for the contracts. They say the Farm did not employ us, and you cease to exist for them, really.”

“It's a contract that there is no contract.” Raven nods. 

“We’ll be officially unofficial. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes. I’m not an experienced field operative. Not my thing, already said.”

Raven does something with her hand and Abby sighs, “Neither of us had any training. We’re scientists. I’m a doctor. And you, I really don’t know what you do—”

Abby can still feel the cock, slick with her own come, heavy against her inner thigh—and that makes her crazy. Abby traces her nose and lips up along Raven’s neck and collarbone and then against her ear. Her hand drifts down Raven’s side and around to first unbuckle the straps and drop the toy to the mattress and then her fingers slip between Raven’s ass. Raven’s holding herself up on trembling elbows, nodding imperceptibly, lifting up and watching, indulgent, and she gasps when Abby starts stroking her. Abby dips back to Raven’s mouth and kisses her. Abby's eyes drift shut and she drops her forehead to Raven’s shoulder; she’s shaking as the pads of her fingers circle between Raven's legs, sliding through wetness and heat, and she flushes red when Raven grinds into them, spreading her ass for her, her legs already opening automatically when Abby plays around her entrance.

“Do it,” Raven whispers, and Abby cranes forward to lick up her chest, placing open-mouthed kisses as she goes. Raven closes her eyes, feeling Abby’s lips everywhere, feeling her fingers tracing her ass. Raven grunts and slides her hand down her stomach and circles her own clit as Abby increases the pressure against her, fingers slipping inside her. 

She feels herself coming apart, and darkness sparkles at the edge of her vision when strong hands grip her waist, and one hand strokes down her neck and down her side and back up again—all over her shoulders and upper back, calming her. She can feel Abby’s attention, her care, and there’s no gravity anymore. Raven is floating, tears springing from the corners of her eyes. She starts to beg quietly, feeling her legs forced apart even more obscenely and her mouth drops open. She’s pleading helplessly over and over. _Yes, do it._

“What do you need?” Abby’s hoarse, low voice sends anticipation thrumming through all of Raven’s body.  
  
Raven’s been dying to touch Abby, embarrassed by her obvious need to do so and in a kind of weird defiance arches her hips and her hand speeds up between her legs. Abby’s expression becomes fond, warm. She’s playing with Raven’s ass relentlessly, spreading the hot excitement coating Raven’s inner thigh all over her, priming her, making her pulse and sweat, cunt aching.  
  
“I love watching you. Keep going. Stroke yourself.”  
  
Raven does, melting in relief, luxuriating even as she realizes she’s dazed as hell and her fingers are moving in frantic fits and starts. Abby watches her; eyes narrowed, and she would have been content to watch her all night. Raven _isn’t_ a smug asshole, never was, her expression is open and honest, pleading, exultant. She sighs and moan’s Abby’s name. Abby almost falls over into another orgasm just from the sound.

Raven rises up and kisses Abby again; lazy at first, and then she's pulling at Abby. Abby kisses Raven back, harder now, keeping Raven’s hand between her legs and laughing softly as Raven tries to fuck herself. Raven wraps her legs around Abby’s waist, and it's only when Abby’s fingers move again in her that Raven pumps as slowly and as deeply, in and out of her cunt, as she can—she’s panting roughly and climbing too quickly to an orgasm despite trying to control it.

She _tries_ to say something and there's a frantic  _fuck_  and  _God and yes_. Abby won't turn away while she fingers her—won't let her be unseen—her eyes are merciless and indulgent. Abby's saved people with the same hands she's dismantling Raven with. Raven's back arches involuntarily. She's already so close.

"I’m going to come." Raven whines, helpless.

"You come when I tell you," Abby says, but she slips her fingers out anyway, wipes them on the sheet, rubs absently at Raven’s chest to calm her. It’s Abby’s sudden emotional withdrawal, her cold and uncaring demeanor that makes Raven delirious, distraught. _Okay._

“ _No._ I want to come for you. I’ll be good.”

Abby tilts her head curiously, “Of course you will. it’s my cunt,” she murmurs, “say it.”

Raven shakes her head, spontaneous tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper, she hesitates, mortified, and then, “Your cunt. I’m your cunt.”

“Kiss me,” Abby says it quietly, “Touch me.”

Abby, satisfied, slips the cock on, and then she lifts Raven's legs, a rough palm is suddenly at her throat. Abby’s thumb strokes down her cheek, “I don’t have to do this, Raven.” It’s barely a whisper, like its the point where they can never turn back again, and maybe it is.

Raven begins to beg, her voice trembling, and Abby watches her do it. She fucks into Raven without any warning, her eyes careful this time, wary, the tip of her tongue against her lips.

Abby has an extremely fluid way of moving her hips, and Raven splays open, legs wrapped around Abby, her arms pushed against the wall for leverage. She doesn’t know what she’s saying any more at all. It feels so overwhelmingly good that Raven just squeezes down every so often, and flicks her own clit for Abby’s sake. Everything is for Abby’s pleasure, so much so that Abby falters in her thrusts and “Oh, my God,” she says it so softly, with so much wonder.

At one point, Abby hits her upper walls so perfectly that Raven just sobs for it, twisting her hips down and throwing her head back. Most of what Raven says after that is just  _Abby_ and  _please._ Abby also won't touch her clit, and it's driving Raven crazy.

"I’m not touching you. Come for me," Abby says.

Raven writhes. The precise pressure of being filled is enough, certainly, but Abby is delaying her orgasm on purpose, switching her pace, holding herself still, intoxicated by Raven and her body, mostly aware that Raven is at the edge. She pushes herself as far as she can into Raven, arms shaking, and comes so hard and so suddenly Raven can’t do anything but talk her through it, reaching to cup her cheek, stroking her thumbs along her temple.

And then, right when Raven is about to touch herself, Abby slips three fingers back inside of her. Abby’s eyes darken, and she leans forward to press the length of her body against Raven with a low groan that vibrates against the hollow of Raven’s throat. She can feel Abby sliding against her, slick with sweat and utterly irresistible, and she shudders, arching into fingers that still tease her. Abby’s going to make her lose her mind, and fuck it, she tips her head back inviting her to. She’s dimly aware that she’s sloppy and panting and practically moaning constantly. Abby drapes herself over Raven’s body, sliding her hand between her ass cheeks and rubbing in firm circles.

Raven fists the sheets and pushes against Abby’s hand. It feels fucking amazing, and Abby is just as rough as Raven needs her to be. They rut, Abby whispering the filthiest things in her ear until, without warning, Abby pulls away and presses into Raven up to her knuckles. It's so unexpected that Raven comes, the pressure proving to be too much. She muffles her moan into a pillow, clenching around Abby's fingers.

Above her, she can hear and feel Abby jerking off, the cock long since discarded, and a minute or so later, Abby comes all over her upper thighs, sliding her dripping cunt up and down the length of her, coating her.

Nuzzling against Raven’s shoulder, with a shyness and affection that’s leading Raven even deeper into an endless existence of raw, helpless love, Abby’s fingers keep moving. Her fingers massage and caress, with absolutely no real intent being made to make her come again.

It feels good. It feels insane and perfect and makes Raven ache for more, again.

“More,” Raven gasps.

Abby drags her fingers inside her with strong, sure movements. Raven feels full and wants more, her hips doing their own begging as she fucks against Abby’s hand. She’s never relaxed and opened up so fast, and she really just wants this to go on forever.

The fingers inside her slow, then withdraw.

“Come on, Raven,” Abby whispers to herself. Raven wonders if she can come from the sound of Abby’s voice alone. Probably. Abby’s tongue sweeps out, just barely touching Raven’s skin behind her ear, and she groans. Raven tastes like salt and earth, and Abby feels Raven surge against her and her body comes awake again.

“So impatient.” Abby pushes away, carefully withdrawing despite Raven's whimper of distress. She watches Raven, who stares at her in innocent confusion.

"Baby?" Raven manages. She’s beyond caring what she sounds like; her entire body is shaking. There’s a fucking _interminable_ pause, and Raven’s eyes fly wide open. Abby looks like she’s about to—

Raven bitches in spanish for a second and then says, “You fucking—oh my _God_. You are _not_ going to—”

The panic, because that’s what it is—cascading, absolute panic blooms in Abby’s face, like she can’t even _believe_ and _oh_ Raven finally gets it, “Oh. No. Oh, babe listen to me. Don't freak out. Don’t stop, alright? The best way around it is through it, just breath,” her voice is rough and hazy at once, she tries for soothing and fails miserably, her body in total overdrive, “Abby? You can do this. Let me beg for it. I need you? I need you—whatever you want to do is—babe, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, you’re okay—“ The words are sort of whisper-shouted into Abby’s ear, and Abby shudders. And Raven legitimately wants to kill herself because what kind of amateur bullshit—she's a _professional._

Raven, with extreme effort, calms down and reaches out and takes Abby’s face in her hands and very, _very_ gently, very softly says, “Please. It's okay, I know you're scared.”

"Sweetheart,” Abby whispers. She pushes at Raven, aches for her at the same time. And Abby blinks and presses inside her again.

“Oh, thank _God_.”

Rolling her hips with each thrust, their mouths and tongues keeping time with the movements, Abby withdraws almost to the tip of her fingers and then pushes in deeper on each thrust. Every time, Raven moans in frustration because it’s never quite as deep as she needs. She might pass out.

Abby’s hips still against her, her head lifts in surprise, and she nearly falls back into panic. Looking pained and intoxicated and desperate to reach her, she searches Raven’s face and sees something that satisfies her second awful wave of terror, Abby starts up again, murmuring and swearing low and steady, mostly furious at herself. She glides into Raven, again and again, each time making her cry out in shocked, grateful pleasure.

Abby takes her time, barely recovered from her spectacularly uncoordinated timidity, and so upset at herself that she's obedient to every nuance of Raven’s body and Raven’s needs. She’s in a kind of intense trance of reparation. She murmurs _I’m sorry honey I’m so sorry_ once and Raven’s mind shutters off; leaving her suspended against Abby, at her complete mercy as she takes her again and again.

“Do you like that?” Abby bends down, exhales into her mouth, and when Abby’s thumb swipes hard across her clit, Raven finds her hands somehow ridiculously tangled in the sheets and she’s totally helpless. Raven realizes she’s had no chance to even prepare for how powerfully she’s going to come.

The orgasm hits her by surprise, and she instinctively raises her fingers to Abby’s mouth who sucks them between her lips and carries her over. Crying out, moaning and sighing Abby’s name, Raven comes long and hard—every part of her submits, completely open. And finally they slow, Abby murmuring into Raven’s ear, and then they go still. Abby’s letting her recover—her own body shivering and whatever she’s saying makes very little sense.

After a few very long moments, panting and trembling, Raven stirs her hips, wanting Abby’s firm, solid caress moving inside her again. “Don’t stop.”

Brushing a light kiss between Raven’s breasts, Abby obeys with only a slightly raised eyebrow. She shifts her angle, increasing her speed, her eyes dangerous and mesmerizing. And kind. The gentleness in her gaze is so lovely Raven that clings to it and saves it for herself in some secret place she can have forever.

“Good,” Raven moans, focusing what few brain cells she has left on staying still as Abby fucks her. She’s being so deeply massaged and pulled at she loses her bearings. She has no concept of the time it takes before she comes again, except she hears Abby’s breathy groan of approval and breaks apart. She’s a shaking mess and has to make do with pulling Abby’s face towards hers and kissing her soundly, deeply. They're both uncoordinated and shy again. She could give a fuck about technique because, Jesus, who cares.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Abby murmurs, her hand sweeping down Raven’s back, making her sigh, “You drive me crazy.”

“Say it.” Raven smiles.

Raven shifts her head to Abby’s ear, takes her lobe into her mouth and suckles at it. Before long Abby’s giggling uncontrollably and Abby relents, curling around Raven’s body, her voice giving her away. “I love you.”

“See?” Raven whispers, propping her head on her free hand and smiling down at Abby, “You’re so stubborn and hilarious. That wasn’t so bad.”

They watch rain fall outside, and Abby's baseline anxiety, her normal need to know what’s happening all around her, even tracking the weather, has gone to ground. Being with Raven does that; it makes her feel free and safe and obliterates the contours of who she thinks she ever was to begin with.

Raven takes her hand, kisses her palm and drapes the blanket over them. She points out shapes standing out against the unbroken fog outside the window. Announces that it will al be clear and clean tomorrow. She names the storm, talks non-stop, pointing things out about the climate and decides again, with empirical evidence, that this confluence of atmospheric events won’t last very long at all, and Abby wants to tell her she loves the sound of her.

Wrapped up in Raven’s voice, she becomes the extension of all her trapped energy—it’s all transforming into something softer, an orchestra tuning up, the music about to wash over them in invisible waves of sound and light. The transcendent, unknown world she’d always sought is right at their feet, unfolding in front of them: they’re already there. All they have to do is step out into the night and get lost.


	15. Chapter 15

Two weeks later, warmly ensconced back at Lexa’s loft, Clarke, Lexa, and Anya peer at her like baby owls, blinking slowly. Raven scans back over her last few sentences and can’t see anything wrong with them. “What’s up, freaks? What did I just say?”

“So all your problems weren’t solved with non-stop sex?” Lexa hands her a mug of hot cocoa and some Christmas cookies with powdered sugar. “That’s weird.”

Raven munches on her cookie because this is a funny dream and she loves cookies so why not. “I don’t have any problems, you repressed bitch.”

“Then what’s up with the face?” Anya asks. “Cheer up, it’s gonna be 2017 soon, babe.”

“I miss Abby.”

“Wait, what?” Clarke scoots over, offering Raven a joint. “You miss my mom?”

“No thanks, maybe I shouldn't.” Raven shakes her head at Clarke’s outstretched hand, “I said, everything is a mythical, cosmic battle between faith and chance.”

“No, that’s definitely not what you said. You miss my mom, that’s so cute. Take another hit.” Clarke smiles, her eyes alight with magic and too much sugar.

Raven sips her cocoa.

 “You're here, right? And Abby’s out there somewhere,” Lexa muses.

“She went to get more appetizers,” Anya says.

“A cheese and crackers run,” Clarke says.

“Yin and Yang,” Lexa nods.

“Sort of. You guys are so fucking weird. Yes, of course, I miss her,” Raven sighs, “I miss her.”

“Shiva and Shakti.”

“Stop. Cheese and crackers worked fine. I got it.”

Clarke whips out her phone and swipes through to a picture she shows Raven, “Look, you and my mom. She’s right here next to you on my phone. Why do you miss her?”

“Yeah, there you go!” Anya points at the lock screen picture, of Raven and Abby. In Paris. “What a coincidence. Raven and Abby met up at Lexa’s apartment by chance. They work for the Government. They work for the _Mining_ Company. They even believe their own crap. Their project got hijacked, and then they saved the world from Jaha’s evil capitalist land grab. They wanted to change their world. But by chance, they already knew each other before meeting.”

“I never told you I worked for a mining—uhm, a company. You know where I work. Where is Abby?” Raven murmurs—things are getting very fuzzy and weird. “Where has she gone? Lexa?”

This is not a dream. Raven’s eyes start to tear, as if a great wind rises through the world she thinks she knows, wiping everything away. Raven’s hand shoots out wildly, her vertigo and panic exploding in her chest and throat, she’s struggling, and the ground of being tilts dangerously without her consent.

“Easy, love. That’s my girl. You’ve been so brave.” Lexa places her hand against her chest to anchor her. “Shh. You’ve gone too deep, that’s all. Your subconscious is fracturing—you’ve done what you needed to accomplish. I’m proud of you. Both of you. It’s time to come home.”

Lexa’s green, fathomless eyes flash with amusement—her face is morphing, becoming somehow more familiar, more intimate than even Raven’s own reflection. Oh, God. _Becca?_

“Ah, see?” Not-Lexa, _Becca_ smiles, “There’s Abby now.”

Abby comes through the door bringing winter with her. Without a word, she puts down her bag of groceries, unwinds her scarf, and unbuttons her coat. She crosses over to where Raven is struggling. “What’s going on? Why is Raven’s nose bleeding like that?”

“Mom,” Clarke asks, “Why is yours?”

Abby staggers to a halt, confused and anguished. She raises her hand to her face, draws it away, blinks at the wash of deep red. She slowly collapses to her knees.

“Now do you understand?” Lexa is not Lexa, she’s Becca, but her voice is still Lexa’s, a whole lifetime’s worth of safety and love. Something around the eyes, the set of her jaw. Both Commanders, “Thought I’d lost the two of you. You were in so deep.”

Raven cowers, “ _Pramheda?”_

Becca has the kind of pale, almost colorless eyes that make her just that much more inhuman, whether she is or not.

“I’m the creator, my eyes can be any color I want,” Becca says, reasonably. “ _Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.”_

Raven straightens too quickly and she lurches—she feels dizzy, nauseated. The room blurs and darkens. She collapses next to Abby. She hears Clarke make a wordless sound of surprise, hears her ask, “What happened?”

Raven raises her eyes and discovers that she can’t focus.

“Something is wrong with me,” she gasps. She hears Clarke move towards her, sees Anya and the room blur.

Then, they vanish.

The house, the cookies, reality, everything vanishes.

The A.I., Becca, drops her then, sending her tumbling and falling into the crackling immensity of the time streams. Raven can’t see Abby, can’t see the loft. She can’t remember ever having consented to any of this. Lexa and Anya are gone. Clarke is lost, blank like a template, unfathomably unreal, a dream—Clarke’s voice saying her mother’s name over and over is the only thing Raven thinks might be worth remembering before she dies. 

 _THoooooHMP_ —a subsonic flash, a subterranean explosion within her core that shakes her apart. Her vertigo blossoms into a stunning magnified disorientation. Things no longer have optical patterns—things no longer _matter_ ; her mind can’t discern anything or make any narrative stick. Her eyes are pulling false focus and her tongue and throat muscles ache and stretch, she thins out and stretches light-years from herself, her hands disappearing into the center of an exploding star, her mind straining against her body, begging for release—reality swims and sinks below the surface of meaning.

_(Who am I?)_

_(Who am I?) The ten thousand things._ There’s a light in the distance, weak but beckoning, and following the cold glow, Raven heads home.

* * *

“God, Becca was good.” Abby slides back from the microscope and rubs at her aching neck. Jackson looks at her, brows raised, hopeful.

“Just date that and we’re done for now. Even though it won't matter in a week, let's just do it as a 'fuck you, science.' Year _2150 CE, day 181 on the ground_.” She smiles wanly at him, wishing they were anywhere else. She wonders if they could just haul this entire lab outside—just for a few hours. It’s autumn, her favorite time of the year since the Ark fell.

She sighs, “Nightblood was designed to help the human body not reject the A.I. and protect it against radiation emitted from the device. That’s why it saved Luna. That’s why it'll save us all if we can figure out how she made these cells combine. Looks like Becca was experimenting with perfluorochemicals, oxygenators, the building block of artificial blood.”

Raven heads up the stairs towards Abby and Jackson, her head buried in printouts.

“Abby, listen to this. According to the record, Becca first developed what we know as Nightblood for the Eligius Mining Company.” 

“Mining?” Abby says more to herself than anyone else. Like she needs an anchor, and any word will do as long as it’s an echo of what Raven says.

“Long duration space missions. Criminals were put into hypersleep and given Nightblood to protect against solar radiation.” 

“Hypersleep,” Abby repeats again. “Nice of her to share that with our ancestors on the Ark.”

She rubs at her eyes, she’s so tired. A mild tension headache. She wonders if Murphy can track down some aspirin.

“I don't understand,” Jackson pushes away from the table, exasperated.

“The Nightblood protein chains are broken. Look,” Abby gestures vaguely at the computer, “how did she get them to bind to the blood cells?” 

“I thought you hated molecular biology.” Jackson gives her a hilarious look.

Abby’s exhausted, vaguely snide response catches in her throat. She feels Raven collapse before she turns and sees her, her nose spouting blood, her skin as pale as the fluorescents of the lab. It’s like a knife through her heart. It’s happening again, they’re going to lose Raven eventually—she’s literally going to blow her mind out. Raven’s foaming at the mouth again, like the first time. She’s fighting for her life, gasping for air.

“Grab her neck.”

Jackson yells and Abby turns her head—it feels like she’s underwater, or in a nightmare. Raven’s seizing, in mortal danger and Abby doesn’t know where she is—she can’t find her. She was right in front of her. The loci where Raven stood, not two feet away, has closed. _There’s nothing there_. There’s no space there anymore.

Aby blinks and Raven's there again, like a reflection of the moon. A little to the left of where she was.

Unbidden, she hears a pronouncement. Even-keeled, not fazed in the slightest, a little triumphant, in a voice very similar to A.L.I.E’s, Abby hears whispered in her mind:

“Becca?”

“Yes, Doctor Griffin. Now listen:

  1.  a : the place where something is situated or occurs : site, location. _‘Was the culture of medicine in the beginning dispersed from a single locus or did it arise in several loci?’_



b: a center of activity, attention, or concentration. _‘In democracy the locus of power is in the people.’_

: the set of all points whose location is determined by stated conditions: 
  1. the position in a chromosome of a particular gene or allele,”



And then, Becca smiles, “Did you think we were just any Where, any Time, any Place else? These are the circumstances we can work with, The EMP, the amount of energy you both endured to destroy the City of Light and A.L.I.E. allows you to become unstuck in time—you might as well use it. And Abby, Raven’s already gone ahead. You need to follow her back. You both need something familiar there as well as here. Or you’ll get lost—your brain will hemorrhage and you will die of an aneurysm, at the very least.”

“Jackson, set us both—Raven and me—up on the tables. Side by side. Now.” Abby commands softly. Jackson scrambles to do it.

Becca continues, “What you will experience will be very similar to Déjà vu. You’ll have an uncanny feeling when you walk into a room or meet someone or whatever and you will say to yourself, ‘I’ve been here before. I know this person.’ The people you meet will be the people you know from this time—otherwise, you will literally lose your mind because the world will be drastically unfamiliar—you will become useless and catatonic if you have no landmarks. No one can survive that deep a shift in location and consciousness. So your consciousness, because it has my capabilities of VR, will construct an environment that will keep you relatively sane.” 

“How does this work? Will we be omniscient?”

“Somewhat. I will simply elicit fragments of memories that you have, memories, desires, relationships—you will know the main details of all those related to you purely for fully immersive and navigational purposes—you’ll see the trees and the forest—and we will, together, move you into an environment that resembles something that feels like you’ve already experienced it. You will go back, and you will live a whole lifetime. And you will see what can be done. Find Raven, Abby. It’s crucial that you find each other.”

* * *

The golden light at the center of the galaxies Raven hurtles through isn’t spatially located, the howling sound of collapse and explosion surrounds her and keeps her body from disaster at all times. But this isn’t a spacewalk. She howls in pain and breaks the speed of light. Her consciousness falls apart, melts into interstitials and rivers of possible outcomes between stars of longitudinal and latitudinal probabilities. One fading part of her screams through the unfathomable dark space of information and sine-curves, oscillating as she falls: 

Becca is with her, living and breathing. All of Raven’s five senses whisper: _Who am I?_

And then, even more to the point and forceful as hell, _Becca, where’s Abby?_

“My God, Raven,” Becca laughs, “You might as well be the answer to a unified theory right now and you’re worried about Abby? That's cute.”

“That wasn’t the past. That was 10 years of psychotherapy in one night.” Raven snorts. 

Raven hears Becca let out a huge sigh, faintly exasperated, warm. “I do miss embodiment. Let’s get you home. Abby’s body is with yours, on Earth. You won’t remember it now but you’ve both been hit with enormous amounts of EMP. Before and After the City of Light. You should have died. You didn’t.”

_Let’s get you home. The year is 2150. You’re going home. Back to your home. Your home is a person. Her name is Abby._

She //something wrong with this theory . . . (// Call only once for all remaining points glBegin(GL_LINE_STRIP);

.)

Need reference points, a mountain to climb, a pair of eyes to love.

Whose mind is yours

She //something wrong with this theory . . . (// Call only once for all remaining points glBegin(GL_LINE_STRIP);

( . . . Start again. . . . ) The language of DNA is digital, not binary. Where binary encoding has 0 and 1 to work with—DNA has 4 positions, T, C, G, and A.

And yet, here we are. Silicon.

* * *

_Brace for impact._

_Mission complete._

_All work and no play make Raven a dull girl._

Raven reacts as a claustrophobe: She can’t breathe, clawing for air, pushing in a panicked rush to escape the arms holding her. The fire in her brain flares and crawls down her spine and almost blinds her. The pain crawls, pulling her apart against strong hands and forearms holding her close against a warm body.

_Breathe! Breathe._

_Shh._

_Shh._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

“Should I wake Abby?” Murphy sounds ready to bolt.

“No. Listen to my voice, Raven.” Luna gathers her and holds her against her body, crooning softly, “ _Ai giv ai op_ —“

I give myself to

“ _gon nemiyon kom lanik-de._ Say it, Raven.” Luna whispers in her ear.

—the miracle of the sea

_Ai skiv ai op gon nemiyon kom manik deya._

Breathe in and out. 

Say it. 

Say it, Raven.

 _Ai giv ai op gon nemiyon kom lanik-de._  

I know the darkness. 

It's ok.

She'll be all right. Murphy, will you?

"The darkness can kiss my worthless ass. Congratulations. You're the new Raven-sitter."

Murphy and Luna’s voices fade in and out in whispers, her breathing evens out and becomes the steady, unbroken wash of cold waves under the solstice moon, her soul's longest night in a hard, forbidden place.

(Reboot . . . )

* * *

 _“Listen.”_ Abby’s voice is as beautiful and soothing as Luna’s was. So welcome. It’s just her voice in Raven’s mind, it’s taken over from Becca’s—although Raven can feel Becca Pramheda close, as close as a beating heart, and her body is as warm against Raven’s chest, familiar after lifetimes of separation. 

Luna’s hands cup her face—her gaze searching, “This is shock, Raven. You were tested, hard. This is just some form of shock, and you'll recover. You’re back in our present. The year is 2150. Remember? We know the fire that ended the world is coming again. _Praimfaya_. It'll be like that, a wave of radiation that'll kill everything in its path. It’s 6 days away. We sent you back to change things, anything we could, in any way we were able to. Abby’s right here next to you. She hasn’t come through yet.” 

Raven gasps and opens her eyes. It _is_ Becca’s lab. They’re back. But even this closed off space has the feeling of the Ground, of Earth after the Fall, and immediately she’s weeping. The air is still so sweet, after years on the Ark, sweeter than any air she breathed in the past, and it smells so powerfully of the familiar that she fumbles to take Abby’s hand without thinking—she just knows to do so. 

Abby gasps and opens her eyes to a white so bright she can hardly see Raven beside her. She puts a hand out to steady herself, vertigo still roaring through her, and she hopes she isn’t going to throw up. She grasps Raven’s arm. It’s no longer winter; she can hear leaves rustling against the skylights and a slight cool breeze outside the window. Deep, rich earth scent and grass and wood smoke. The memories are fading—what they did, what happened to them in the past is already changing drastically in her consciousness. She’s weaving stories.

_(Silence)_

Abby’s suspended in the ice-wind of space, the songlines of space-time, it’s crystals and fractures, moments strung together like stars. The firmament is her only covering, alone in the freezing darkness under a dawn sky. 

Raven found me. _When did I ever listen?_ I should have known. 

_She’s reliving the past—in the desert that night in 2016._

Abby, when she finally catches her breath, looks up at Raven. She gets up from where she kneels on the floor between Raven’s legs and grabs the sheet that's fallen unnoticed while she’d brought her to an intense orgasm (like, the fourth one already) with her tongue and teeth and fingers, everything she had really.

Abby pulls the bedding up to just below her waist and says, “Peyote?”

Raven brings her mouth to Abby’s, licks herself off of Abby’s lips and moans, “It doesn’t matter if you trust me. That’s what you’re paying for. I get to play by my rules, not yours. And yes, peyote.”

Abby just stares at her.

“Or, not?” Raven said, “It’s up to you. We could keep doing a number of things I’ve dreamed up for us, we could go all night. Or we could have a dozen consciousness-expanding and sensation-magnifying hallucinations, visions of God, instant psychoanalysis, telepathy, and various creepy and/or ecstatic sensations nobody has yet been able to verbalize. Sexual fulfillment beyond anything imaginable.” Raven wiggles her eyebrows, adorably. Abby bursts out laughing.

“I happen to like consensual reality,” Abby says, “Like, a lot.”

“Abby,” and this time, it's Raven who kneels gently between her legs, “Something’s got you stuck. I recognize it because I know it. It’s in me too. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since yesterday. Tell me what it is, or don’t. But I want to help.”

After coming so hard she nearly passes out, Abby looks Raven straight in the eyes, her face set, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

* * *

Abby’s smile is wide-open and goofy, “We all have sex-in-the-head, and that’s a hell of a place to have it.”

Raven hums her agreement and continues to stroke Abby lightly between her legs. She arches into her touch, legs slipping around Raven’s hips into the warm press of her body. And then the visions start and Abby, quite literally, loses herself in time and space.

By the fifth or sixth hour, when the hallucinations pass and a typically benevolent tranquility settles through both of them, sex becomes an unspeakably sacred and ecstatic experience. They make love with the Earth and the Sky, and laugh hysterically because that's ridiculous and amazing, (in an energetic and emotional way, Raven says with a completely straight face and then laughs so hard she cries) as Raven brings Abby to climax again and again under the startling map of stars they can see through the room’s window. Afterward or whenever, because time's relative, Abby suggests a walk.

They dress and head out into the cool night; the concierge helpfully points them in the direction of a trail towards the open desert just beyond the hotel’s pool. The moonlight is so bright; they can pick their way without any trouble. They walk easily together and talk.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Abby says. “Raven, you’re using a huge percentage of your brain. Ischemic phase of hemorrhagic shock. I don't know if it's a stroke yet.”

Raven squeezes her hand and stops her. Abby turns towards her and kisses her and continues, “Listen to me. We were both recently exposed to extremely high levels of electromagnetism. Heightened mental ability, hallucinations, euphoria, and headaches—it's all connected. A.L.I.E. warned us both that the EMP would cause brain damage.” 

Abby gets distracted, becomes acutely aware of the sensuality of the landscape—its honesty, the love in every grain of sand, in the wind.

“Jasper was right. That's why no one else got an upgrade. For everyone else, Clarke pulled the master kill switch. It’s like shutting down a program the right way. When the EMP fried my chip, it was more like cutting the power from the OS while the ram was still full. Part of A.L.I.E.'s code is still in my head. That's why I know things I was never taught. Becca's mind was in that code,” Raven murmurs and strokes her fingers over the necklace Abby wears, the wedding ring it holds. “You didn’t take this off last night, or tonight.”

Abby nods. “Smart girl.” 

And then she really bursts into tears. She cries like she hasn’t cried in years. This is nothing compared to what’s happened the night before. This is despair and hurt and hopelessness. It comes pouring out of Abby so violently and unrelenting that she almost loses consciousness. She's only vaguely aware when Raven’s arms come around her when they sink down in the sand and sagebrush together, and then Raven rocks her gently as she sobs.

They stay like that for an eternity. Raven’s fingers sweep through Abby’s hair, again and again, she brushes Abby’s face and forehead and temple with her lips over and over as she murmurs into Abby’s ear, “You’re okay. You’re okay. Let go. I’ve got you. I won't die from a little imaginary spacewalk.”

“We’re going back. Raven, we have to go back,” Abby says after a while, wrapped in Raven’s warmth and gazing into the sky. “Why would we put each other through the mindfuck of time travel, you know? Unless—unless there’s a reason we agreed on. You know what I mean? It just seems a little unnecessary, otherwise. Huh, paradox.”

And then, because they’re nomads tonight like they’ve eaten the heart of the earth and the world is so bright around them, Abby takes the necklace off and slides her wedding ring onto her hand and just looks at it. It’s beautiful.

Raven traces her fingers over Abby’s face, needing to repeat a reason, any reason she can, not to forget. 

“Our consciousness is here in the past. Our minds are here. Our bodies are still in the future. Do you see?”

“But why?”

The world as it is shifts and changes before Abby’s eyes. The colors, the shapes, the sky pulsates like milk in dark blue liquid—the horizon encircling them like a chain of diamonds.

“It doesn’t matter right now. Look around you, Abby,” Raven whispers, “Every plant, every stone, everything has its own clearly visible, beautifully oscillating soul. We deserve to be happy.” 

Abby feels, rather than sees, the waves/particles vibrating with life, and she and Raven entangle themselves up in one another in a loving heap of limbs and watch the moon descend.

“I can feel the pulse in this rock,” Abby breathes. 

“You’re lying on top of me,” Raven giggles.

“Yes,” Abby said, feeling as free as she ever has, “Yes I am.” And she bends down to kiss Raven, this beautiful girl, this miracle.

* * *

Abby tears the flimsy headset away. She lies shivering on the low couch, her eyes gummed and smarting, staring up at the lab’s lights and Jackson, Murphy, and Luna. She forces her eyes closed, then pulls them open again, away from the darkness, away so much experience.

“Where’s Raven? Where’s Clarke? Are they alive?”

“Abby, she’s right here. Relax. You’re both okay,” Murphy says, “Clarke’s coming.”

* * *

“Did we change anything?” Abby rubs at her temples, still weak, still unclear why she has to talk to an A.I. through Raven. It’s absurd. “I'm guessing whatever we did back then if we managed to _do_ anything—the progression will be exponential—but minute. Each time our consciousness jumps, it gets harder and harder, we hemorrhage just that much more. We’ll need another—”

“No, no more.” Raven hisses, furious. Not at Abby, but at her subconscious—because _Oh dear Jesus_ what kind of fucking crazy pornographic fantasy shit was _that_? A Delta Force field Agent. What. She’s mortified. She can’t even look at Abby. Why can’t she just die of embarrassment? An escort. She cannot even _believe_ what they— 

Abby looks like she wants to kill someone as well; she’s her own weather system practically.

Raven winces. Abby’s face keeps flushing red every time she recalls a detail, or has a memory—and she gets angrier and more restless. She inhales deeply and calms herself with visible effort; Luna’s hand holds her arms steady. “We were able to come back because there was something familiar in both times—everything, everyone, was familiar in both times. All of you were there—The VR and our minds. Clarke, Jaha, Sinclair, Marcus. Murphy, you weren’t there.“

“That’s actually really good news,” Murphy says.

“All this, see this used to be all variables, it was random, chaotic.” Raven manages to mumble, Becca prodding her, “The EMP—unstuck in time. We accomplished what we set out to do. I think?”

“And holy shit, that was quite a storyline you came up with,” Abby seething.

Raven clears her throat after just—she wants to die, again, “The prototypes for the empathic A.I.s were set free—out into the Free Web. We were able to create the probability of an A.I. that had some sort of, I don’t know—maybe we released an A.I. with a Hippocratic oath ‘DO NO HARM.’ Every equation needs stability, something known. A constant. That constant was a familial bond.”

There. That was weirdly clinical and not excruciatingly embarrassing at all.

“ _Familial_ —?!“ Abby rounds on her, and stalls out as the memories of what they did together _just keep surfacing_. “What we were was NOT _familia_ —”

“Well?” Raven shoots back, her feelings unaccountably hurt, “It wasn’t only me. Maybe it worked. we made the difference between sentience and consciousness explicit. Maybe we taught A.L.I.E empathy?”

Roan and Clarke appear. Roan shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Love?” He growls, even more bluntly than his usual terse pronouncements, “What are you on about now? The second apocalypse is still coming. It’ll be here in _6 days_.” 

Raven _really just_ would rather die now. At least she’s wearing clothes. Espionage. Escorting. What the _fuck._

* * *

“I want to re-introduce you to someone,” Luna leans across Abby’s body and presses a button. “You’ve created an alternate timeline. You succeeded in making that prototype A.I. into freeware. In our original history, that was never the case. That medical A.I. from 2016 was military. It was all DOD under the auspices of a team of engineers and scientists hand-picked by the military. Or it was Tech. There were no ethical models, or they were weak, to begin with. So there must be some details of this particular world—our world—that are different. Something maybe?”

She presses a button and ushers in a hologram, but she’s there and not just in Abby and Raven’s minds. Which is like, a relief at this point. Dark-haired. Beautiful. Calm and grieving. Still.

 _Becca Pramheda_.

“You’ve completed what you set out to do. Original simulations of the A.I. that I was asked to create for the deep space missions were based on the medical model freeware you released. We ran simulations and the program showed only decision-making processes that accounted for time, not connection or community. Temporal discounting. When a reward is too distant, the A.I.s, like people, discounted it—short-term gain was all. Same for the neural networks. The nascent bytes of intelligence got hostile when resources were scarce in deep space. And then there was one simulation, one of the big tech giants ran that one—and they set it in a VR that demanded cooperation to survive—acting out of self-interest alone was more dangerous. So, The A.I.s decided to delay the reward—they cooperated.” 

“I know,” Abby says, “Our team ran those same experiments. Jaha, or whoever he was an avatar for—“

“Dr. Griffin,” Becca insists, “The world will end again. You cannot change the future. That’s not what we went back to do. You know that,” the hologram nods at Roan, “or else we wouldn’t be here at all. You can’t change the future. But whatever is different means there are alternate timelines. We just have to read this universe; and see where this universe breaches against the new universes. We’ll find out what they are now. They may give us some kind of chance we didn’t have before.”

“And those differences may save us,” Clarke nods to herself and sways until she's leaning heavily against the console. And then she says very, very softly, “Raven, before you came out—you said Lexa was there?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Abby startles and focuses on her daughter, “yes—“

“Clarke,” Raven stops and says nothing for the longest time while catching her breath, and then she curses softly. Her whole body yearns to take Clarke in her arms, “Yes. She was there.”

“And she was beautiful.” Abby finishes.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own. Not for Profit.


End file.
